The Troll
by Dancing Manatee
Summary: A decision can affect life. An action can change a life. A person can change hundreds of lives. Everything has a consequence. What if one decision- one action- one person totally alters your life? Better or for worse? You decide. R/H Mature themes later
1. Chapter 1: Reminisces

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**The Troll**

By Angelic Ashley

Chapter 1: Reminisces

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I laid there in bed with her – my wife. Merlin, it was wonderful to say that. I couldn't imagine a more perfect life. I watched my wife for what seemed like hours. She had never looked any better. I slowly caressed her arm draped over my chest. Her beautiful pecan hair lay scattered about her bare back. I took a piece and fiddled with it a bit, smoothing it down completely. I loved to play with her hair. She stirred as I kissed the top of her head.

            I traced her fingers before taking her hand in my own. She instinctively linked fingers with mine and squeezed. I chuckled to myself before settling back on my pillow. It seemed that every time I took her hands in mine, she would link fingers. It had been like that ever since we admitted we liked each other – I had first admitted to myself that I couldn't live without her. It took one of the strangest and most wonderful experiences of my life to realize that and a troll to prove.

* * *

"Bugger off, Hermione!" Ron exclaimed, running up the stairs to the boys' dormitories and slamming the door behind him. 

_            'Why does Hermione have to be so bossy? What's it to her if I don't do my homework? It's due in three days, and I'd rather practice my Quidditch skills! Merlin knows I need it. With homework, classes, regular Quidditch practice, and prefect duties, I haven't found time to work on it alone. I've been working my "lazy" arse off, and this is just a little rest from all my obligations. Does Hermione understand that? No. I'm not even sure if she knows what the word rest means.'_ He opened the door labeled _Sixth Year Boys._

_            'She is just trying to breed another workaholic Hermione. Well, bollocks to that! She is_ _a stuffy, stuck-up, bossy, overworking, know-it-all prude! I'm not going to spend all of my time studying and working.'_

            He strode over to his bed and pulled his broom out from under it. He needed to clear his mind and try to forget about homework, prefect duties, and Hermione's constant nagging. He ran through the common room before Hermione could start another row. He didn't want to argue with her right now. When he reached the pitch, the cool breeze invited him eagerly. Ron hopped on his broom and lapped around the pitch a few times to warm up before taking out the Quaffle. However, no matter what he did, his mind kept wandering back to Hermione. _'Good riddance,'_ he thought crossly. He didn't need Hermione hassling him about Head Boy-ship or pushing him to do homework that wasn't due for several days. Or calling him lazy when he'd rather be playing chess than working and constantly reminding him of his irresponsibility when he turned the other cheek to some _minor_ offenses to the rulebook or even broke one himself. Especially when she went on about bloody Krum or spew. _'Good bloody riddance!'_

            Still, he couldn't free his mind of their argument. It wasn't nearly as bad as the Crookshanks vs. Scabbers row or the Yule Ball row, but Ron released a lot of pent up anger and frustration towards Hermione in this particular row, and it turned into something quite large.

_            "Oh, Ron, why don't you work on the Potions essay due on Thursday? It's quite complicated, and you haven't even started yet!"_

_            "I'll do it tomorrow. I need to work on my flying."_

_            "Tomorrow and the next day won't be enough time! And you most certainly aren't going to copy mine. You won't learn if you keep mooching off other people. You need to do the work yourself, and tomorrow will not be enough time."_

_            "MOOCHING? I do plenty of work myself! I wouldn't have asked to borrow your essay anyway because I know you well enough to know that you would have told me to bugger off!"_

_            "Shows you how well you know me, Ronald. I would not have told you to, as you so blatantly put it, 'bugger off.' If you took my advice once in a while, you might get better marks!"_

_            "Why would I take advice from a boring know-it-all? I might just turn into one too. Now, excuse me, but I want to go enjoy my youth."_

_            "Your youth is the only time when you can take N.E.W.T.s! If you applied yourself more, you would have gotten more O.W.L.s! Harry got –"_

_            "_Harry_ got – I do not care what _Harry_ got! I am not Harry! I got enough, didn't I?"_

_            "Yes, well –"_

_            "Then that's enough for me, thank-you-very-much! I did the best I could, and that was last year! This is this year, and I don't give a damn about what Harry or Hermione got! I got enough to take all the required N.E.W.T. classes, and that's enough for me. Thank you for bringing up the fact that I only got eight, like my mum doesn't remind me enough already. You've completely proven to me that my life is nothing compared to The Boy Who Lived or The Girl Who Studies So Much She Doesn't Have A Life! I feel so much better now!"_

_            "You are being absolutely ridiculous! I don't think that way at all!"_

_            "You sure have a funny way of showing it! Harry only got one more O.W.L. than me, which I missed very slimly, and you make it sound like I'm either a lazy arse or Harry is the next Dumbledore! Now, if you wouldn't mind, I'd like to go practice my flying. Why don't you go bother someone else for a change? Go make sure Harry is living up to his flawless reputation; you never seem quite as concerned about him."_

_            "Ron! Will you stop it? You're being extremely unreasonable! All I'm trying to say is that – DON'T WALK AWAY FROM ME! YOU'LL NEVER BE AN AUROR IF YOU DON'T EVEN TRY!"_

_            "I _do_ try! Just because I don't study every waking moment _of the day, doesn't mean I don't try! The fact of the matter is, Miss Bossy, I work very hard. I have Quidditch skills to exercise, whether or not it's during the scheduled practices, which I have to organize, being the _captain _and all. I have prefect duties, homework, and N.E.W.T. classes. Excuse my wanting to take a break. You say that I don't try, but I have to relax sometime. If you decide that all work and no play makes Hermione a better girl, you do that, but I'm not you or Harry! It would be fantastic if you'd shut your big, bucktoothed mouth!"__

_            "What on Earth did I do to you, Ronald Weasley? I'm a prefect too, and I have top marks to maintain. I need breaks, but I have my priorities in place. Plus, I was only trying to help. I didn't want you up in to your ears tomorrow night, and I do support you in what you want. I'm simply trying to say that when you do get to it, I might not be there. What then, hum? Your constant procrastination isn't helping you practice for when you have to make it on your own. But if you don't apply yourself, how am I supposed to help you? It's as if you don't even care anymore! Don't take my advice, no skin off my nose. Flunk out for all I care, you ungrateful, rude, selfish, arrogant prat!"_

_            "Bugger off, Hermione!" _And with that, he slammed the door in her face.

            Who cared about Hermione anyway? All she ever did was get into people's faces about everything. She would go on and on, never caring about what they had to say. For instance, that spew nonsense. The house-elves didn't want to be freed, but she wanted some glorifying heroism by freeing them all, so she could be known for centuries to come. She had always treated Ron as if he didn't know what was best for himself, like an overly protective mother. With having one already, two was a nightmare. She didn't understand that Ron wanted to live his life according to what he felt was best for himself. He didn't want to free the house-elves, study until his head exploded or become another nagging know-it-all. She didn't understand that there were more important things than work, besides what you labeled under friends, family, life threatening, possibly life threatening, or is better than schoolwork because you can use it in a life threatening situation. Either way, Ron didn't want to become another Humdrum Hermione. 

            It didn't matter anymore, anyway. Hermione was always going to meddle around in people's business, and one day it was going to catch up with her. Sure, he, Hermione, and Harry had done their fair share of meddling. Some things they shouldn't have, and some things they should've. Ron's schoolwork (after five and a half years of nagging) and spew were two things that she should've just let go. However, her stubbornness stood as firm as the day they had met. Some things couldn't be changed, and Hermione and Ron's different views on priority and work ethic was one of them. If only her rock hard perseverance cracked just a bit, Ron might receive a much-needed break from his nosy best friend.

_            'I should have never become friends with her,'_ Ron thought defiantly as he Charmed the Quaffle to shoot at him. _'Never having to deal with her constant nagging would be a dream. All she does is bother me about bloody grades, bloody homework, and bloody school. The girl is duller than dirt. She's Hermione the house-elf. All work and no play makes Hermione a boring girl. I'll go nutters – run around the school starkers for a day – before I turn into another Hermione.'_

            After practice, Ron helped himself to some food from the kitchens and brought it up to his dorm, where he worked on homework until nine at night. Then he packed up his papers and essays, and set to bed early, placing the dirty dishes on the stairs for the house-elves to find.

* * *

Ron found himself in a pitch-black room. Ever so slowly, stars began to appear in the sky as though a child was drawing them. Soon, not only were they appearing on the ceiling, but the walls and floor too. They had emerged out of thin air, as if they jumped off the walls and now hovered in the air.

            As he reached out to touch one of them, every star sprang to life, buzzing about resembling Irish fairies. More and more stars appeared, and the existing stars linked together, creating chains of light.

            The whole room was filled with swirling bands whose stars were steadily becoming brighter and brighter from their original candlelit glow. When a chain of them passed Ron's nose, a door (though there was none) seemed to open, leading to a larger room. Every cluster of light shot out of the door and reproduced more clusters, larger and brighter than their parents. Ron's mouth dropped open when he saw what was beyond the non-existent doors.

            Far in the distance was a sun-sized object glowing assorted shades of blue. It was glowing so brightly that it looked like a continuous blue explosion. It was the sun in this large "room" of interesting objects. There were thousands of small, colored glass balls all linked together. They spiraled around the never-ending room. The linked stars, now varying from the size of a Snitch to the size of three Quaffles were zooming around in all directions. There were hundreds of moons spinning about, changing stages as they zipped round and round. 

            There were spherical indigo and scarlet globs of goo separating and gooping together. They would shape themselves into strange models like his Cleansweep, the Ford Anglia, his chess set, and the brain that attacked him the year before. He saw Pensivigraphic images of family reunions, many Hogwarts memoirs and random, random memories from his past. Like explaining to Harry about Wizard Cards on the first train to Hogwarts. Ginny telling them about Percy's girlfriend, and him and Hermione walking around Hogsmeade alone together. Seeing Hermione as one of the captors for the second task in fourth year, as well as working with Hermione during the D.A. the year before. In addition, him and Hermione walking around the grounds after shortened prefect meetings this year.

            The dozens of beautiful, yet massive, planets which, Ron noticed, were very similar to Jupiter, except in different bold colors like gold and teal. The ringed planets were the only things in the "room" that Ron noticed were not moving from their spot, though they were rotating fast and in odd ways.

            Ron had never seen something so spectacular and bizarre in his entire life. It looked like outer space except with millions of unexplainable phenomena. All at once, the goop, moons, stars, and glass bubbles moved out of the way and made a trail toward the great blue sun. The planets' colorful rings jettisoned themselves off their planets, shrank enough for Ron to fit through, and formed a single file from Ron to the sun as if to barricade the other objects from the trail. The blue sun shot out a long band of watery, green slime towards Ron. The green slime stopped right before Ron's face and stretched out to fit within the inside of the rings. The green slime barrier flashed blindingly baby pink before turning into a liquid gel and then invisible. A second pearly glob of goo shot out from the blue orb and stopped halfway between Ron and the blue ball. The glob combusted into a red fireball, creating an earth-shattering sonic boom before releasing a heatless red glow. 

            Ron suddenly felt his body lifting off the ground and then being shot out into space. As he passed, the goo formed different images that he could see only for a split second before he passed. He saw one of his rows with Hermione that afternoon. Ron was heading toward his dorm when Hermione shouted at his back. Ron looked over his shoulder at her.

            "YOU'LL NEVER BE AN AUROR IF YOU DON'T EVEN TRY!" cried Hermione's voice, fading away in the distance; everything sounded so far away.

            Immediately after first seeing the image, he flew by it, and the next image, from the beginning of the year, formed in the goo. Hermione and Ron were walking down the train corridor on the Hogwarts Express after their prefect meeting. Ron was ignoring Hermione's chiding as she trailed along behind, her hands on her hips.

            "If you really want to be Head Boy, you'll have to work extra hard this year. I know you can do it if you really try, Ron."

            The next image was from this past summer at the Burrow. Hermione's arms were around Ron's neck in a tight hug. After she released him, she looked up at his tall figure with a smile dazzling enough to have Draco Malfoy after her. At least, that's the way it was to Ron.

            "How are you, Ron? Have you had a good holiday? It's wonderful to see you. I hope you've done your homework," said Hermione with a hint of amusement in her voice.

            That was the last image Ron saw before he shut his eyes. The swirling moons, stars, goo, and glass bubbles flying past was too much for his stomach. Though he couldn't see anything, he still heard bits of conversation as he rocketed through space.

            "_Accio_, Brain!_"_

            "I've put a Protean Charm on them."

            "It's my name on the letter."

            "Ron! The Cup must have been a Portkey! I just know it! How else could they have disappeared from Hogwarts like that? We have to tell Dumbledore!"

            "You're fraternizing with the enemy!"

            "_I'd love to go the World Cup, Ron! I'll see you on Thursday. Love from, Hermione._"

            "HE'S NOT PETER, HE'S SCABBERS!"

            "I don't think anyone should ride that broom just yet!"

            "Look at this. Brand-new wand. Fourteen inches, willow, containing one unicorn tail-hair."

            "You solved it! You solved it!"

            "Wait till everyone finds out you've got a _tail_!"

            "You're telling me you _did fly here?"_

            "I'll be a Knight."

            "Nicholas Flamel is the only known maker of the Philosopher's Stone!"

            "_Wingardium_ Leviosa!_"_

            Ron opened his eyes now because of a bright light burning past his eyelids. He was so close to the red ball that Ron thought he would crash into it.

            "Hermione! She's in the girls' bathroom!" screamed Harry's voice now.

            Ron heard his eleven-year-old self scream something, but it was too late. The red blazing ball engulfed him into its heatless, blinding glow before everything went back to pitch-black.

            Ron opened his eyes to sunlight shining in his face. He quickly closed his eyes and moved out of its path.

            "Ron, get your lazy arse out of bed, or you're going to miss breakfast," said Harry impatiently, throwing a pillow at Ron's head. Ron groaned and threw it back at him.

            "Fine, don't eat breakfast, I don't care. I'm hungry, and Neville, Dean, and Seamus are already down there. Now, if you aren't ready in five minutes, I'm leaving you up here." Ron groaned again as Harry pushed him off the bed.

            "I'm glad you saw it my way, Ron. Five minutes, or you might have to eat with Granger," Harry chuckled, picking up his bag and heading out the door. Ron immediately awakened, and his head shot up at Harry.

            "Harry, wait!" Harry spun around and looked at Ron. "What's with calling Hermione, Granger?" 

            "Are you kidding with me, Ron?" Ron shook his head, indicating that he wasn't.

            "Why are you angry with her? Hermione and I had the row, I've never heard you be like that to her or take sides."

            "Funny, Weasley; are you feeling all right? You'd better see Madam Pomfrey. See you at breakfast or Transfiguration. If you miss breakfast, I'll save you a piece of toast – with extra marmalade." With that, Harry opened the door and headed down into the common room.

_            'That was weird,'_ thought Ron. _'Since when did Harry start calling Hermione "Granger?"__ Why is he also suddenly so cold toward her?'_ Ron shrugged it off and headed toward the showers. Something about today definitely didn't feel right, but Ron couldn't put his finger on it.

*~*~*~*~*~*

I like reviews - *hint hint wink wink nudge nudge*

Thanks to my beta – Eleena Thea

Disclaimer – The plot is mine, but the setting, characters, and Harry Potter world belongs to Warner Bros (ick) and Oh-so-wonderful J.K. Rowling. (*Builds shrine to J.K.)

Angelic Ashley


	2. Chapter 2: Befuddled To Babbling

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The Troll

By Olivia Frost

**Chapter 2: Befuddled To Babbling**

*~*~*~*~*~*

     After his shower, Ron ran down to the Great Hall in hopes he would have at least enough time to snatch up a piece of toast. When he got there, everyone was already filing out, chatting away about couples, and stuffing last pieces of food into their already full bellies. Ron's own grumbling stomach reminded him that he hadn't had breakfast and it took all of his being not to quickly run in there a grab a piece. However, the thought of McGonagall reprimanding him for being late eased the urge.

      "I knew you wouldn't make it to breakfast. Here," said Harry coming up behind him holding a few pieces of toast. "Three pieces of buttered toast with extra marmalade, just like you like it."

      "Er . . . thanks mate," Ron said slightly confused.

      "Not a problem. Let's get to Transfiguration before McGonagall kills us," Harry joked heading toward the Transfiguration room.

      "Is Hermione there already?"

      "I suppose," Harry replied looking at Ron strangely. "I don't really pay her any mind. You know – leave well enough alone." Before Harry could talk any further, they reached the classroom and walked in. 

     Ron stopped looked over to their usual spot in the middle of the room. There were two blank seats waiting for them to sit down, but Hermione wasn't in the third seat next to them. Neville was. Hermione was in the front of the classroom sitting alone. What was going on? Did the world suddenly turn topsy-turvy? Neville usually sat in the front with Harry or himself. He never sat in the back so he could listen to Professor McGonagall better. Hermione didn't sit by herself unless Neville asked her for help that day. It didn't make any sense. 

     Ron was so involved with his thoughts that he didn't notice the rest of the class brush past him and take their seats. Only when the Professor entered the room and tapped him on the shoulder, did he break from his musing. He looked at her disapproving, "lemon-sucking" look and moved back towards his seat. Somewhere between glancing at his seat and walking toward it, he saw Hermione roll her eyes and shake her head with annoyance. Ron glared at her before taking his chair next to Harry.

      "What's with you?" Harry asked leaning over whispering into Ron's ear.

      "What do you mean?" Ron replied quietly as Professor McGonagall began her lecture.

      "You usually just ignore her when she does that. It's a daily routine with you two. You come into class, she finds something indecent about you, and shakes her head like that. You used to get into a row with her every time or glare. You haven't done that since third year."

      "What in the name of Merlin are you talking about?" Ron asked thoroughly confused. What was Harry talking about? He wasn't making the least bit of sense. Ron and Hermione didn't get into rows _all_ the time. Sure, they would often bicker and very rarely argue to the point of not speaking, but they haven't had a twenty-four rivalry like the Slytherins and Gryffindors since the very beginning of first year.

      "Harry, are you feeling well?" Ron asked his voice rising a bit more but not to the point of disrupting the Professor.

     Harry raised an eyebrow and stared at Ron as though he had not only grown a second head, but his hair grew to the floor, his eyes multiplied to cover his entire head, and rainbow colored, six inch nose hairs sprouted out of his nostrils.

      "I'm feeling fine, but it's you I'm worried about," Harry whispered. "Have you hit your head?"

     Now Ron was frustrated. "No, I haven't hit my head. Can you please explain to me _why within this one class I feel like I'm in a completely different world or at least at the base of some very bad joke. What is going on?" Ron asked in normal volume. The entire class looked over at him as well as Professor McGonagall._

      "Mr. Weasley, what is the meaning of this? Detention and five points from Gryffindor."

      "I'm sorry, Professor, but I think Harry's ill. He's talking completely insane."

      "Mr. Potter, are you feeling well?"

      "I'm feeling fine, Professor, but Ron's the one acting strange, not me."

      "If you're sure. Mr. Weasley, would you please meet me outside in a moment."

      "But, Professor –"

      "Now, Mr. Weasley."

     Ron didn't say anything but followed Professor McGonagall out of the classroom, whispers and murmurs following him. When they reached the corridor, she closed the door and turned on Ron.

      "Mr. Weasley, what exactly was going on with Mr. Potter that was so important to interrupt my lesson?"

      "We started off talking before the lesson started and he was going on about how I usually ignore Hermione."

      "Go on."

      "Doesn't that sound strange? Since when have I ignored Hermione? When we get into huge rows we don't talk to each other, but he made it sound like we did this on a daily basis."

      "And you don't?" Professor McGonagall asked uncertainly.

      "Well, of course not. Hermione, Harry, and I are best friends; you know that. Are you sure you're feeling well too? Was the breakfast food bad this morning? I didn't have time to eat much."

      "No, Mr. Weasley, there was nothing wrong with the breakfast food. Now, tell me again, what exactly did you say to Mr. Potter."

      "I don't remember exactly, but he kept going on about how Hermione and I are practically enemies! Plus, he was talking like he was angry with her or something. Harry and Hermione never get into rows and if they ever do, they wouldn't just ignore each other. Harry even called her by her surname!"

      "Mr. Weasley, I . . . er . . . uh . . . well . . .," started Professor McGonagall. Ron was stunned. He had never seen Professor McGonagall baffled to the point of babbling. She always knew what to say. What was wrong with everyone? It was as if the whole school was in on a joke against him, or at least Harry and _Professor McGonagall_ were, which was highly unlikely. The only plausible explanation was that the whole school had gone nutters. Absolutely nutters.

      "Professor?" Ron asked after a minute of uncomfortable silence.

      "_Accio__, writing tablet and quill! Mr. Weasley," said Professor McGonagall scribbling something down on a piece of parchment, "take this up to Madam Pomfrey."_

      "Should I go get Harry then?" Ron asked unsurely.

      "Not this time, Mr. Weasley. I'll have Mr. Thomas tutor you on today's lesson. I hope you are well soon."

     Ron took the parchment from her hand and started for the hospital wing. But before he could get far, Professor McGonagall called him back. He turned toward her a walked a few steps so they didn't have to call all the way down the corridor.

      "Ronald," she started, which surprised Ron greatly, "I hope that this is a sign of you and Ms. Granger finally getting along. This school could use some peace and this childish rivalry between the two of you has gone on long enough. I hope that you two can set apart your differences because you'd probably be very good for the each other."

      "Er – thanks?" Professor McGonagall grinned a bit before heading back into her classroom. All Ron could think of was how this day was getting stranger and stranger, and it was only eight-thirty! _'I'm dreaming! Yeah, that's it. This is all a very strange dream. It has to be.'_

* * *

     After a Disillusionment Potion and four hours of sleep, Ron was certain about one thing – the whole thing in McGonagall's class was a hallucination since it certainly hadn't been a dream. Thereby, proving that Madam Pomfrey's potion had worked. He walked into the Great Hall for some lunch and scouted out for Harry and Hermione. Though he still was angry with Hermione for yesterday, he only needed a good rest to calm his nerves and let his blood simmer down. When he found a mess of black hair, he walked over and sat down across from him. He didn't notice Hermione and concluded that she was probably talking with Ginny. He piled a few sandwiches on his plate before diving in.

      "I see you're all better," said Harry chuckling at Ron's bulging cheeks. Ron nodded his head. "You were acting weird in Transfiguration."

     Ron swallowed the last of his food with a large breath and said, "I must have. We have Charms next right?"

      "Yeah, I never knew Charms could be so difficult before this year."

      "You say that every day. Did my sister steal Hermione away again? I know we got into this huge row yesterday, but this day has been to strange. I don't want to add 'ignore Hermione' to the list of things on my mind."

      "Ron, are you sure that potion worked?"

      "Yeah, why?"

      "You're talking mad again. What row? You had a row?"

      "I didn't tell you? Hermione and I got into this huge row yesterday about how I wanted to go flying. She wanted me to stay and do my Potions essay."

      "Why would she care if you did your essay or not?"

      "She's Hermione, she's Miss Bossy and in our face. It's her job to nag us about doing homework," said Ron feeling like everything was going mad again. _'This has to be a dream! There is no other explanation! Why would everyone act like this otherwise? I took that potion! I'm feeling fine! It's a dream, Ron. It's all a very messed up dream.'_

      "Hermione doesn't bother us about anything, Ron," said Harry as though he were explaining it to a child. "She doesn't even talk to us if she can help it. It's the same with us. Why do you suddenly care?"

      "HELLO! Hermione is our best friend. You're talking nutters again, Harry! What is going on?"

      "I'm trying to figure out what's going on with you! You know what; let's forget about this right now. I have Occlumacy tonight at five."

      "Today's Tuesday isn't it? Yeah, it is. We have practice tomorrow at five"

      "What kind of practice?"

      "Uh . . . Quidditch?"

      "Ron, you know I'm not on the team. Umbridge kicked me off last year."

      "Harry, Dumbledore said you could when he became Headmaster again."

      "Dumbledore isn't Headmaster, Ron. Umbridge is. She's still in charge, which means I'm still _permanently banned_. What a toad."

      "You're talking mad again."

      "Let's just _drop it! I'll start over. I have Occlumacy lessons tonight with Snape; you think you can fend for yourself?"_

      "I'm pretty sure I can. How are those going?" Ron replied feeling very befuddled and restrained.

      "Good, I'm actually blocking out some of those nightmares."

      "Nightmares? I thought those stopped since the Department of Mysteries thing last year."

      "What Department of Mysteries thing?"

     Ron had never been so shocked in his life. It was like Harry had forgotten everything. How could he forget the Department of Mysteries? How could he forget about Dumbledore being Headmaster? How could he be so cold and distance toward Hermione? There was something going on here, but Ron couldn't figure it out.

      "You know, when Neville, Hermione, me, you, and Ginny all went to the Department of Mysteries last year."

      "I think that potion screwed around with your brain even more. I never went to the Department of Mysteries, why would I go there?"

      "Because you thought Sirius was in danger. . . ."

      "Ron, I never thought Sirius was in danger because Sirius is dead." Ron's mind went almost completely blank. This was the first time since the June that Harry admitted to Sirius's death. It took him a few moments to find some words.

      "Harry, I know Sirius is dead. I'm really sorry; I shouldn't have brought him up."

      "Why wouldn't you? I mean, I was sad for a while because I really wanted to know him better, but I only knew who he really was for a few hours." If it was any more possible, Ron became even more confused.

      "A few hours? Harry, he was your godfather for two whole years. You two became pretty close."

"I think you should go back up to the hospital wing. You're talking mad again."

      "THAT IS IT! WHAT IN THE NAME OF MERLIN ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?"

      "WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?"

      "Shut your cake holes, both of you!" shouted Seamus from down the table a bit. "What in the name of leapin' leprechauns are you two yellin' about?"

      "Ron is making no sense at all. He's going on and on about things that _never_ happened. He went up to take something from Madam Pomfrey, but it, apparently, didn't work."

      "Are you in denial, Harry? Seamus, didn't Harry, Hermione, and I go to the Department of Mysteries last year. Isn't Dumbledore Headmaster? Aren't Hermione, Harry, and I all best friends?" Ron shouted clenching is fists in frustration. "And don't you dare say 'no' because I know it's all bloody true! If this is some cruel joke, then it's gone on far enough!"

     Every single person within earshot (almost the entire Hall, but luckily not the Head) turned toward Ron.

      "Harry's right, Ron, you're acting like a buffoon. I don't know anything about this Department of Mysteries thing, as far as I know, you, Harry, and Gra – Hermione never went anywhere last year and certainly nowhere together. No, Ron, you, Hermione, and Harry are _not_ best friends. You two and Hermione barely acknowledge each other's existence, let alone are best friends. Thirdly, if you want to know who the Head of the school is, why don't you look for yourself?"

     Ron looked at Seamus queerly before fixing his eyes on the Head table. Everyone seemed to be there, including the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Except one person - their white bearded, blue eye, moon-shaped spectacled, brave, wise, old Headmaster Dumbledore. In his place was a toad-faced woman with a pink bow and cardigan over her robes. Professor Umbridge was still there! 

     Ron looked back at his best friend. There was something going on here and it wasn't a joke or hallucination. It seemed as though so many things hadn't happened. This just had to be a dream. There wasn't any other explanation! What if this wasn't a dream? It felt so real! There was only one way to know. . . .

     As soon as lunch was over, Ron headed past Harry and the other Gryffindors towards the Slytherin table. As he was out the doors, he saw Malfoy. _'It's__ now or never Weasley.'_ Ron walked out of earshot of the professors and called out for Malfoy and his band of idiots.

      "MALFOY!" Malfoy spun around and sneered at Ron. Crabbe and Goyle moved in closer to Malfoy (if that was even possible).

      "What do you want, Weasley? I don't give to charity causes."

      "Funny, Malfoy. But I heard some things and I wanted to know if they were true."

      "Like what did you hear?"

      "I heard you had to go to Azkaban and give your dad his Sneeze's snot hair potion. Is it potion or troll bogies? I can never tell." Ron shook his head. As Draco stepped forward, pushing his thugs back. "Anyway, how does it feel, having your dad in prison? Good thing you and that ugly mother of your have blackmail money because a brainless oaf like you could never earn anything. That would require too much brainpower. You're dad's little snake stick and that stupid sneer is the only power you have in the wizarding world. Let's face it, they only fear you because you're dad's a convict who had to buy his way out of the law. What power do you have over the wizarding world now that your dad's been exposed for the slimy git he is? Galleons can't talk, and who's going to listen to a Malfoy anyway? What are you going to do? Sneer me to death? Send your goons after me? I'm scared now! The fact is that now that your precious blackmailing dad is in Azkaban, you're mum has the intelligence of rat droppings, and you're only sixteen, you don't have any power over the wizarding world. I hope that snake stick and sneer get you far, because money is no longer on your side, and wit never was." Now there was a huge crowd gathered around. A few people applauded Ron as Malfoy seethed in anger.

     Malfoy gave a slow, throaty laugh. "Did I just hear you correctly?"

     Ron shook his head nonchalantly. "Unless it passed right through your thick head, then yes, you did."

     That was the last of the talking anyone heard. Malfoy's fist connected with the side Ron's face, right under his left eye. Ron fell to the floor before Neville and Harry pulled him up and carried him up to the hospital wing. Yep, Ron definitely wasn't dreaming.

* * *

     As soon as classes were over, Ron ran up to his dorm to lie down. He had an awful headache. As soon as his head hit his pillow, Ron fell into a deep sleep. When Ron woke up he noticed that it was already six thirty, but decided to skip dinner, his head couldn't bare the trip. Harry might bring something, and if he didn't, it was all the better breakfast the next day. He really did have to start on that Potions essay since he also had Prefect duties. Reality or not, Hermione told him that the essay was tough and due in two days.

     As Ron read his potions book for some facts on the Light Energy Potion, Harry walked through the door. "Hey, feeling any better?" he asked sitting down on his bed.

      "Somewhat, though my head feels like someone is hitting it with a Beater's bat."

      "When did you wake up?"

      "About six thirty. I wasn't hungry."

      "Ron – not hungry? Now, why don't I believe that?"

      "I was working on something, too."

      "What?"

      "Potions essay."

      "I don't believe that either. You really are acting crazy. What's going on?"

      "I don't really know, but I'm going to brave the headache. I have to go downstairs and make sure everyone _behaves."_

      "Why is that your job?"

      "I'm prefect."

      "You sure about that, Ron?"

      "Uh . . .," started Ron. Since when wasn't he prefect? "I think so."

      "Dean's the prefect Ron. I think that blow to the head damaged your brain even more than before." Ron fell back onto his pillow and heaved a sigh. This still wasn't making sense. Nothing was making sense! It wasn't a dream or a hallucination, and it couldn't be a joke. Why was everyone acting so strange? Why was everything in the world screwed around? Ron tried to think, but the headache became worse.

      "I think I'm going to back to the hospital wing, I suddenly became very nauseous, and this headache is unbearable."

"Hope you feel better, mate."

      "Yeah – me too," Ron grumbled packing away his essay. He packed away his things and brought them with him while Harry was in the loo. After taking a headache reliever potion from Madam Pomfrey (who also insisted he take another goblet of Disillusion Potion but Ron ran out of the Hospital Wing before she could give it to him), he headed to the library to work on that essay. His head felt well enough to work, but not any hard thinking. So contemplating the strange goings on at Hogwarts was out of the question. Ron rarely went to the library willingly, but without Hermione's help, he might actually have to do all the work himself. In addition, N.E.W.T. Potions was not something you fooled with, especially with N.E.W.T. Snape. He walked swiftly down the corridor to the library, passing students out for a late night stroll around the castle without a second glance. He quietly opened the door to the library, and ignored the flabbergasted look on Madam Pince's face. He walked down to his usual spot without thinking twice about who was already there.

     He stopped short a few steps away from his table, when he saw Hermione already hard on some homework assignment. She was scribbling down a few notes, flipping through a very large, moth-eaten book. Even if he wasn't angry with her, he knew that approaching a girl who was his supposed "rival" wasn't at all good. He took a seat at the nearest table before going back at his essay.

      "Light Energy Potions are often used in the making of Time Turners. . . ."

*~*~*~*~*~*

I hope you like this chapter! For my Divine Experiences readers, I'm really sorry about taking a long time! But this chapter will be very long and I hope it'll be worth it! To Troll readers (that's all of you!) please review!!!

Thanks much,

Olivia Frost


	3. Chapter 3: Logical Thinking

Author's Note: **_Okay, for all of you who have already read this chapter, I apologize for putting it up again._** I just realized that I accidentally put up the wrong version of this chapter and I want kick myself in the butt because of it. So for all of you who have already read this chapter, you do not need to read it again if you don't want to. The only thing that changed is instead of Harry **_and_ Ron getting into trouble, it was only Ron. I also added a little snippet about Ron's perception of himself. It's not needed, but I'm very angry that I screwed up in the first place.**

*~*~*~*~*

The Troll

By Olivia Frost 

Chapter 3: Logical Thinking

*~*~*~*~*

"Ron, wake up," said Harry groggily.

"Wha'?" Ron asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"If you don't get your lazy arse out of bed right now, you'll miss breakfast."

Ron fell back onto his pillow and sighed in relief. Everything yesterday _was a dream! Ron, whose head still rested on his pillow, began to fall back to sleep._

"Oh no, you don't! Do you want to be late for Defense? If you don't get up right now, Professor Hart will get ugly. Remember what she's like when she's ugly?"

The image of Professor Hart questioning him and making him look like a complete fool shocked him awake, and he leapt out of bed like a French Fairy after a raspberry. He didn't think twice about his "hallucinations" the day before.

"I thought so," Harry muttered, exiting the dorm in triumph.

Ron made it down to breakfast with just enough time for a piece of toast and goblet of pumpkin juice. He didn't bother to dry his hair that day for fear he would be late for class.

As Harry and Dean talked about football, it dawned on Ron that Hermione wasn't sitting with them. _No – Ron thought disbelievingly. __It can't be true! Those were hallucinations – it was a dream! Ron looked up at the Head Table where Dolores Umbridge sat in her Headmistress chair. He fingered his left eye and cringed at its tenderness. Damn! Everything from yesterday was real. _It's__ all real, _thought Ron, as though he just realized boys and girls _aren't_ the same. _There's___ something crazy going on. I don't understand. This is just wonderful_! I have a headache, a black eye, a befuddled head, and my friends have gone bloody mad! What happened to my life?__

"Ron?" Harry asked, as he waved his hand in front of Ron's face.

"Huh?" he replied, turning his eyes to Harry.

"Never mind. Let's go." Ron followed closely behind Harry, thinking about everything. However, thinking didn't get him very far.

He never did see Hermione at breakfast, but when he walked into the DADA room, there she was – at the front of the classroom, her face buried in a book.

For one fleeting second, Ron forgot he wasn't supposed to be friends with Hermione and moved to sit with her.

"Ron! Where are you going? Right here, mate. Are you feeling ill again? I thought you took something."

"My mind's just wandering. The potion . . . er, does that to you. Right then," said Ron uncomfortably.

"Good morning, class!" said Professor Hart, coming through the door. "Take out your wands and books, please. My, my, you're all here on time, good show! Right, please turn to page 159, thank you. Now, can anyone tell me what the name of this curse is?"

The class looked strangely at their professor before looking down at the book. It said at the top in big, bold letters, "The Memory Curse." Ron wasn't sure, but this seemed like a very bad joke from their professor, who probably thought it was funny. Ron went along with it and raised his hand like the rest of the class.

"My, my! You all want a crack at it? Well then, Mr. Macmillan, what's the answer?"

"The Memory Curse," he replied confidently.

"Wonderful, Macmillan! You are wrong! Its name is _not the Memory Curse. Can anyone tell me the name of this curse?"_

Nobody's hand rose this time, except Hermione's. Ron rolled his eyes. Even when the rest of the world was going crazy, count on Hermione to know the answer to every question.

"Ah! Ms. Granger! I never get tired of your hand. Five points to Gryffindor."

"But I haven't even said the answer!" 

"I know, but you're the only one in here who actually bothered to _read ahead. Now, what's the name of the curse?"_

"The Heart Curse."

"Correct! Five points to Gryffindor. Now, if anyone – besides you, Ms. Granger; one answer a class for all of my pupils – can tell me why this curse has two names, ten points will be awarded to his or her house. Does anyone know?" Silence. "I didn't think so. What are you all waiting for? Start reading!"

Harry turned to Ron and whispered, "Ron, you read the first half, and I'll read the second."

Ron nodded his head and dove into the chapter. 

He finished the chapter, thinking about the names. They weren't mentioned – ever! All it talked about was how the charm was developed and what it did, but never why it had two names.

"Harry," Ron whispered. "Got anything yet?"

"Nothing. It's just telling about technical points and the background of the curse. You?"

"Just how it was developed and what it's used for."

"Nothing about hearts or memory?"

"Yeah, about memory. It gave a vague summary going into some technical terms, but those were explained. It said the curse forces the memories to leave the body."

"All memories?"

"No, just sad ones. But why would that be bad? I mean, you'd have only happy memories."

"Oooh, it all makes sense now. Mine said the _wiforce_ of the curse pulled the _deprem_ from the brain out of the heart, slowly causing the heart to die from strain. What's left is insanity and _folrem__._ What in the world are wiforce, deprem and folrem?"

"They're technical Charms terms. Wiforce is the magic in the charm, deprem is basically sad memories, and folrem are happy memories."

"So basically, you use this, and what happens is the heart dies from the strain of every sad memory killing it, even though the brain doesn't register the heart is dying."

"And a head fully of giddy thoughts and no heart to feel them makes the person go insane."

"Makes sense. But why would it have two names?"

"Good show, boys!" said Professor Hart. Both Ron and Harry's faces blanched. "You seem to be enjoying your little chat; what were you two talking about?"

"The curse, Professor." Ron's voice cracked.

"Oh? I'm pleased you two find my lesson so captivating, but I don't think I said it was a team effort. Come with me. Up to the front of the class you go!"

Ron and Harry cringed towards each other and followed Professor Hart. With a flick of her wand, cursive letters wrote themselves on the blackboard. As the final "i" was dotted, Ron was able to read, _Group Discussion._

"Since you two boys are so keen on talking, why don't you go on with the rest of the lesson? Tell us your findings. Remember – you're being graded," she said in a singsong voice. The class watched them, looking rather amused as Ron and Harry started describing their conclusion. It didn't go well; they stuttered over every word and constantly interrupted each other. When the torture was over, Professor Hart stepped in.

"Very good, boys, _very_ good. No doubt confirming two heads _are_ better than one. Now, why do you think this charm has those two names?"

"Well," started Ron, "the spell pulls out sad memories?"

"Wouldn't it be called the Sad Memories Curse, then?"

"I suppose –," Ron said, feeling very foolish. He hated being up on spot like this.

"But it isn't. Mr. Potter, why isn't it called the Sad Memories Curse?"

"It doesn't just affect sad memories but all memories?"

"Spot on! What's the reason behind the Heart Curse? Mr. Potter, you seem to understand this, you tell me."

"It affects the heart?"

"Nope, there are plenty of spells that affect the heart, Mr. Potter. A simple heat spell will affect your heart rate. Mr. Weasley, care to give it a shot?"

"It's the only spell that affects the heart in a non-physical way? Like, thoughts and memories hurt it instead of physical things." 

"Exactly! Wonderful answer! Now, both of you tell me – without help from the other - why exactly it's called the Heart Curse? Each of you, take a quill and a piece of parchment and write the answer." She handed them their supplies before leaving them on their own. 

Ron thought about it for a moment before scribbling down, "The Memory Curse could easily mean some other bad thing to the body like 'Obliviate.' While a hex sets off an unnatural reaction to the body so it damages itself, a curse is a non-physical (or directly magic or spiritual) spell causing pain to the body. The Heart Curse is the only curse to harm the body through a magical way instead of where the body would injure itself with a hex. The Memory Curse is a misnomer. The memories are not harmed at all, just removed from the body. So it should really be called the Memory Charm." He handed his parchment to Professor Hart, just a little while after Harry, and she looked over their explanations. 

"Incredible," she said with a hint of amusement in her voice. "Simply incredible. You boys, even after using each other's information, went with what you originally read, I presume, and figured it out entirely on your own. You may have briefed each other on what you read, but if you read on a bit further, or a bit backwards in your case, Mr. Potter, you would have been able to figure out these theories on your own. Mr. Potter, your description went on about the technicality and background of the Curse, did it not?" Harry nodded. "And Mr. Weasley, yours was how it was developed and a brief summary of the use?" Ron nodded.

"Don't you see? You don't need two heads to come to the same conclusion. That's why it shouldn't have been a team effort.You may have used each other's information in the beginning to form a theory, but you didn't answer my question from the other person's information. You went by your thoughts, and you both came out correct. But it goes a bit deeper. Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter, you both said the Memory Curse name was incorrect?" They both nodded dumbly. She announced to the class their theories on why it was called the Heart Curse. "Now, can anyone tell me _why_ it would be called the Memory Curse when it's an obvious misnomer?" Padma Patil slowly raised her hand. "Ah! Miss Patil! What do you think?"

"This book's name is 'Technical Defensive Spells.' From what I've read so far, the writers focus more in depth with magical Charm terms. And I was thinking since they use proper terms, they would use proper spell names as well."

"How would it be proper?"

"Well, the term wiforce could easily be said the 'magic' instead. Therefore, the Heart Curse is more like saying 'magic' instead of 'wiforce.' It's a simple, more common way of saying it. But the Memory Curse is more like 'wiforce' because it's known to Defense spell researchers by a more formal name."

"But why is it researchers use the formal name instead of the informal?" said Professor Hart, clearly pleased and interested with Padma's explanation.

"Because researchers use everything by their proper, technical names, and spells are always categorized by the wizard or witch who developed it. So it would make sense that in a technical spell book, you'd see the proper names for spells. I believe the maiden name of the witch who developed this spell was Memory. Elizabeth Memory-Kirick"

"Precisely correct, Miss Patil. Ten points for Ravenclaw." Padma's face brightened. Professor Hart thanked Ron and Harry before allowing them to return to their seats. She looked up to the clock and cried in astonishment.

"Oh dear! Five minutes left. Well, homework time!" There was a large groan. "Oh, don't complain. The assignment is a four-foot essay – no complaining! – consisting of one foot on the Memory Curse's use in defense, one foot on three more curses or hexes affecting either the heart or memory. More points if you find one that affects both. Due in exactly twelve days! So you have almost two weeks, and three days per foot!" She shouted the last part over the ring of the bell and the buzz of students leaving. "Mr. Weasley! A word before you leave, please! Mr. Potter, I'd like a word after classes today, as well." 

Ron groaned before turning back towards her desk. Harry patted his back reassuringly before exiting himself. She was definitely going to give him a lecture. She always gave a small lecture. Ron despised lectures.

"Very good today! I am impressed. I think ten points for Gryffindor is in order." Ron's faced flooded with a mix of happiness, confusion, and disbelief. "Don't get too excited yet. I'm very proud of you. You're doing what I've been trying to teach my pupils from day one. You're thinking like an adult, reasoning like an adult, _becoming_ an adult. However, using Mr. Potter as a backboard is _not_ a very adult thing to do. You understand why I'm upset?"

"Yes, Professor," Ron replied, trying to hold a bit of a smile down at their newly received points.

Ron loved and hated Professor Hart at the same time. She was one of the best Defense teachers he ever had. She made him think more, compared to any of the previous teachers (though Professor Lupin came in very close second, if not equal). She came down to the level of her students - made them teach her. She was the only teacher (besides Dumbledore) that made him feel guilty when he messed up. She was the most annoying teacher too, since she told him what he did wrong without really telling him. She made him figure it out for himself. Like most teenagers, he didn't like to be wrong, and hated it even more when he figured out he was wrong by himself. 

She was also a teacher that didn't have a problem getting personal with her students. Shewould praise him for good work, or scold him for putting out less then his ability. She** could find something good in every person (not as if there was anything good about Draco Malfoy), and she made them see it too. It was as if she knew everything about him just by looking at him. Yes, Professor Hart was one of the best teachers ever.**

"So, why don't you tell me what you did wrong?" 

"We weren't supposed to work together," said Ron quietly. 

"There's nothing wrong with working with another, but when you can to do it on your own, you should. I must admit it's faster to do it your way, but this is a school, and you won't learn anything if you always look to someone else for an easy way out. I understand there are hard spots, but my intention today was to get you thinking. For _yourselves_."

Feeling especially brave, Ron said, "Well, you did, right? We did think. We thought a lot, actually."

"And that's why I awarded you the points. You thought; you could have just ignored it or passed notes like others did. Granted, you did get the points by doing something unfair. Therefore, I don't feel bad at all for what I'm about to do."

Ron groaned loudly, sounding like a cross between a bullfrog and very old dog.

"Three detentions. You did what I wanted, you got others interested, and you proved to me you could do it. You _can_ think logically, and you _can_ do it on your own. You applied yourself."

"I've applied myself before –"

"Yes, Mr. Weasley, you have. But for the first time I saw you think the way _I've _been trying to make you think. Applying yourself in a way _I've_been trying to make you apply yourself. I saw you do that today, and I saw you do it _well_. Whenever my pupils do something right, I reward them. Whether it's with praise or points is the difference between a lucky chance, a bit of thinking, or real thinking as you've done today. Luck gets you praise, to reinforce participation, a bit of thinking gets you a couple of points, but real thinking gets you more points. But you did something us teachers call _cheating_. In tests, you can't use someone else's help; it's the same thing in class unless I tell you otherwise. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Professor."

"Good. Take this pass just in case, and hurry to your next class. I'll send your detention slip in the morning. Oh, Mr. Weasley, one more thing. . ." said Hart. Ron turned around and looked at the Defense Professor. "You have so much hidden potential. You are an incredible person with such enthusiasm and love in your heart. You have the _intellect_ to go wherever you want. I honestly have never known another human with such a wonderful heart – thirst – love for life that I know you have. You can go so far if you put your mind to it. I don't have a doubt in my mind that you will one day change the world for the better. You are a very special person, Mr. Weasley. You are your own individual, driven by courage, eager to prove your worthiness, knowledge of life, and loving compassion. Don't lose something so special. Don't lose that gentle heart and passion."

Ron walked out of Professor Hart's class slowly. Ron Weasley – him – intelligent? A special individual with a caring heart or whatever feminine bullocks she said? Not him. Not Ronald Gareth Weasley. He was the sixth Weasley son; below two Head Boys, prefects, and popular pranksters. He wasn't clever like Bill, with his curse breaking, or Hermione. He wasn't brave like Charlie, with his dragons, or Harry. He wasn't bossy or snooty (not that he wanted to be). He wasn't a prankster genius, mischievous, and popular like Fred and George. He wasn't the baby of the family and only girl (thank Merlin). He was just Ron. Ron wasn't smart like his brothers, he wasn't a leader, and he wasn't anything special.

Ron Weasley was mediocre.

That's right – mediocre. He had mediocre everything. Mediocre marks. Mediocre Quidditch skills. Mediocre leadership. Mediocre possessions. A mediocre life. Ron wasn't destined for anything special. He was exactly what Malfoy said last year. He was born in a bin. He was nothing.

Ron walked into Flitwick's classroom and handed him the pass before taking his seat next to Harry. Ron noticed Hermione sitting in the front row, ready to pounce at a question like a thestral at meat.

"Well, you are just in time, Mr. Weasley. We were discussing the Timeline Charm. Does anyone in the class know what the Timeline Charm does?" asked Flitwick's squeaky voice. It came as no surprise when Hermione's hand shot up.

"Miss Granger?"

"The Timeline Charm is an immensely complex charm that records time by the millisecond."

"Very good, Miss Granger! Five points to Gryffindor. Now, does anyone know what objects use the Timeline Charm?" Hermione's hand shot up again, and Professor Flitwick nodded to her.

"Its major use is in Pensieves and a Time-Turners. Though a Time-Turner is more dependant on the Charm."

"Five more points to Gryffindor. Today we are discussing Time-Turners and next lesson, Pensieves. Do you see this, class?" Professor Flitwick asked, holding up a tiny hourglass attached to a chain. "This is a Time-Turner. It allows you to go back in time. Each time you flip it, you go back one hour. Can anyone tell me why a Time-Turner is dangerous?" Hermione's hand shot up for the third time, but Ron raised his as well.

Professor Flitwick saw this and looked extremely surprised. "Mr. Weasley?"  
"A Time-Turner is dangerous because if you have the power to go back in time, you also have the power to change time. If someone who has bad intentions, like the Dark Lord, got a hold of one, he could go back in time and alter our reality in his favor." Ron stopped for a second before continuing. "They must be carefully handled because our decisions are very fragile; one little mistake and everything can crash down." He stopped for a moment and thought about what he just said. It was almost as if as one of his dad's ecleric switches turned on in his head. He started talking slower now, as if to comprehend every word he was saying. "Every decision we make, or every action we take has a consequence. But if someone has the power to turn back time and correct a mistake, the result can be completely different. If you redo a decision, everything affected by that decision also changes. There is no other reality to those around you, because _you're_the one who modified time. Only the one who altered time knows the differences. And that kind of power and knowledge is deadly, but nobody would know the difference. It can be used for good or bad, depending what you do with it."

"Ten points to Gryffindor, Mr. Weasley." Ron smiled coyly as Professor Flitwick continued with his lesson.

"Ron?" Harry whispered. "Where did you learn _that_?"

"I just – figured it out, I suppose."

"Well, keep it up. You're really on a roll today."

"Er – thanks."

Ron didn't think about Time Turners anymore. He was too concentrated on this new revelation. '_A Time-Turner?__ That's impossible, though!'_ No! It wasn't a Time Turner. Something else was going on. But he went back in time? _If someone has the power to turn back time and correct a mistake, the result can be completely different. No, it – it couldn't be true! How could he go back in time? _Only the one who altered time knows the differences. _'I am the only one around here that seems to know everything is different. . . .' _One little mistake and everything can crash down._ One little mistake? What mistake? His world had definitely crashed and burned, but what mistake?_Every decision we make, or every action we take has a consequence._ A decision? Did Ron change a decision? Did he do something that changed everything? _The power to turn back time and correct a mistake._ The power to change time? What about the power to change a life? A world? _The power to turn back time . . . one little mistake . . . a consequence . . . the result can be completely different . . . no other reality to those around you . . . that kind of power and knowledge is deadly . . . can be used for good or bad, depending what you do with it.__

The power to change a life. . . .

How could this possibly be good for Ron? What was this other reality showing him? He changed something? What did he change? He thought back to the dream the other night. It was as if he was dead, and his whole life at Hogwarts flashed through his mind. Now looking back on it, it started from recent and went backwards. Like a huge Timeline Charm out in space, jettisoning him back in time. Then it changed time for him. It changed a decision path for him! What did it change? DAMN IT! He couldn't remember! He could only remember parts. What changed? Ron slouched down as far as he could before falling on the floor.

He heard Harry calling to him, but nothing outside of his mind mattered. It all sounded indistinct, anyway. However, it did sound as though Harry was concerned about him. He saw Professor Flitwick and everyone else in class crowded around. A floating sensation overcame him. Although Ron felt his entire body shutting down, sloping into unconsciousness, his mind felt just as sharp and awake as ever.

Ron ignored his body; it didn't seem to matter. What was he going to do about going back into time? A thought struck him from his explanation of Time-Turners. _If you change a decision, everything affected by that decision also changes._ Ron had to find an origin to everything different. From Dean being Prefect; from Sirius's death back in third year instead of last year. Everything was affected by one, little thing. And Ron would be damned to hell if he didn't find out what it was.

*~*~*~*~*

Thank you so much to my wonderful beta and friend, Eleena Thea and my _magnificent, awesome, incredible, prize worthy, and lots of other words meaning "great" (may I add, humble *wink*) _ checkmated beta, Liberty. I couldn't express my gratification in words.

Thank you to my reviewers from the first two chapters:

**Phoenix72389**- You liked the row? I wasn't too sure about it. Thanks for the review, it really helped me out. I hope this was "shared" enough for you! Thanks for the review again!

**Mousse**- I like your name! Ohhh! Aren't we perceptive? Don't worry, everything will come out in the open soon!

**Row**- You like the description and detail? Thank you so much!

**Kemenran**- Thanks for the reviews! They really mean a lot to me!

**Jaina**- Ohhhhh! Another perceptive reviewer! *wicked grin* Thanks for your review!

**Mystikalolo**- I have to agree with you. Poor Ron. I'd be terribly confused too! Hermione- oh, you'll find more about our dear Hermione soon. ;) Thanks for your two reviews! I promise that this next chapter of Divine Experiences will be like 2 or 3 times longer than usual. Thanks again!

**Meneya- Fascinating, eh? I hope this update was fast enough! Thanks so much for your review!**

**Ingenious**- Thanks for the review! Sure you're not dim. . . . ;) Thanks again!

You all know the drill! Read = review. You all know how much I LOVE reviews!

Olivia Frost (The Icy Queen of STARS)


	4. Chapter 4: A Series of Unfortunate Event...

*~*~*~*~*~*

**The Troll**

By Olivia Frost 

Chapter 4: A Series of Unfortunate Events

*~*~*~*~*~*

Ron felt a blinding light behind his eyelids. So bright, it was almost white. _'This is it,' he thought solemnly. __'I'm dead. I have to be dead. When you're alive, you don't suddenly beam to another life, you don't insult Malfoy and have him knock in your bloody face, you have your friends with you, and you don't feel sick to your stomach from confusion. Damn, is this how Crabbe and Goyle feel all the time? Or are they used to it by now? No, they're too thick to understand anyway. I must be dead, though. I must be. Damn! This bloody light!'_

A figure appeared, guarding Ron's vision. Ron silently thanked the figure, because if it hadn't moved, he would have been blinded. Ron was still sure he was dead (or dying) until he felt someone place a cold cloth to his forehead. He moaned the first thought that came to him.

"Am I dead?" The figure, who Ron could tell was a woman by her voice, chuckled and moved the damp, foul smelling cloth over his eyes.

"Don't be silly, Mr. Weasley. You're just in the hospital wing. You are one of the most peculiar boys I've ever tended. You hallucinate, have headaches, and now you faint. Perhaps I should send an owl to your mother." Ron groaned and tried to ignore the newly formed headache.

"I knew those potions had side effects if they were given to someone who didn't _need them. However, you __were acting mad. . . . Are you feeling all right, Mr. Weasley?" _

Ron groaned a "yes" as best he could.

"Keep the cloth over your eyes; they are very sensitive from the potion I gave you after you fainted. When everything goes _completely _black behind the cloth, unfold it and check if you can see properly," said Madam Pomfrey.

"Right."

Ron did exactly as the dotty nurse instructed. He closed his eyes once again, but instead of black, he saw a kaleidoscope of bold colors and white dots crawling around under his eyelids. It certainly was one of the strangest things Ron had ever seen. When the colors finally faded and the dots disappeared, he opened his eyes to the white room, careful to shield them from the sun. He could barely see, but it appeared Madam Pomfrey was working on a small potion. His eyes adjusted to the light, and he lifted his hand from his forehead. As he did, the sun's rays hit his eyes, and he cried out in agony. It felt as if someone poured salt and acid on them.

Ron buried his head under his pillow to shield his stinging eyes, as tears began to pour out.

"Ah, Mr. Weasley, it wasn't completely black, was it? Well, I prepared this potion so your eyes won't be as sensitive. Sit up," said Madam Pomfrey. Ron wanted a little while longer before venturing out into the light. He wanted the pain in his eyes to diminish a bit before leaving the safety of his pillow cave. Ron attempted to tell her to wait just a moment, but it came out more like a refusing groan.

"Oh, come now, Mr. Weasley. You'll only need to open your eyes for a moment. What happened to all that Gryffindor bravery?" Damn. She thought he was frightened and pulled out the bravery bollocks. Ron? Brave? Not him. Harry – yes. Hermione – yes. If he was brave, it was nothing compared to Hermione with her bookish wit, and Harry with his noble heroism. Ron was just Ron. The sidekick. It didn't matter; she would think him a child if he asked for just a little longer for his eyes to relax.

Ron pulled his head out; the light shining past his eyelids pricked. He moved over to Madam Pomfrey, who quickly opened his eyes and dropped in some solution. The light that entered his eyes was nothing compared to that potion. His eyes felt as though they were melting, burning to ashes, and molten hot wax smothered them all at once. Ron reached up to rip at his eyes and end the pain. On his cheeks, he felt hot sweat and tears that failed to wash away the burning potion. Madam Pomfrey put a few drops of another solution in his eyes. He was too sore to protest. The potion soothed the sting, and he fell back down on his pillow, again slipping into unconsciousness.

He wasn't sure, but his sleep felt only about five minutes long. Images of his life at Hogwarts flashed before his face. However, they were nothing of reality. They were all of this life. There was nothing about the Philosopher's Stone or Chamber of Secrets, nothing of Sirius after that night in the Shrieking Shack, nothing of the Yule Ball or any time with Hermione whatsoever, nothing of the D.A. or the Department of Mysteries. Nothing. They were all of him and Harry talking, playing chess or Exploding Snap, detentions, classes, Hogsmeade, and late night adventures under Harry's invisibility cloak. They flashed by so quickly, Ron's brain barely comprehended it all until he appeared in the same space dream room he visited a few nights prior. The red star, far in the distance, exploded into thousands of pieces, shaking Ron from his dream.

Ron opened his eyes, once again, to a figure standing over him. His eyes no longer hurt, as the figure guarded the light from him. Instead of sensitivity, the light filtered around the figure. It was brilliantly eerie.

"Ron, wake up! C'mon! Madam Pomfrey said you could leave, and we have twenty minutes to get to Potions. Unless you want to be late, I suggest getting your lazy arse out of bed and running to the shower. You look and smell like crap, mate." Ron sat up, took his pillow, and threw it at Harry.

"Thank you for that brilliant assessment, Harry. I feel better, really. Nuff off," Ron snapped grouchily then fell back onto the mattress.

"Oh, no, you don't, Weasley. You're getting out of this bed; I am not enduring Snape alone. If I go down, you're coming with!" said Harry and shoved Ron out of bed. "Now move your fat arse!" 

"FINE!" Ron cried, jumping out of bed. Harry fell on the mattress with a thud, his sixteen-year-old body pushing it out of place. "Oh, now I see. You just wanted me out, so you could take a nap yourself!" Ron quipped jokingly.

"Shut up, Ron." 

Ron laughed to himself as he walked to the hospital wing showers.

* * *

Ron rounded a corner and flew down the staircases leading to the dungeons and Snape's classroom. He was far ahead of his shorter-legged best friend.

"HURRY UP! CAN'T YOU RUN ANY FASTER?" Ron shouted to Harry, who was far behind him. "MY MUM CAN RUN FASTER!"

"Just because you're a giant, Ron, doesn't mean I'm slow! Can't you hold up a bit? I'm about to crumple over. We ran all the way from the hospital wing, and I'm tired!" Harry called to the best of his ability because it's hard to yell when one has zero oxygen.

"No time! Snape'll kill us if we're late!" Ron yelled back, clearly not as out-of-breath as Harry. "We're almost there!"

"It's your fault! You had to take a long shower, didn't you?" 

Ron glanced back at Harry. "I told you, I didn't feel clea-"

_WHAM!_

Ron, his books, and the person he ran into fell to the floor with a thud. The surrounding Gryffindors looked upon the sight and laughed heartedly while the Slytherins made vomiting noises. Ron blanched as he recognized the soft person he landed on.

"GET – OFF – ME!" Her face grew red as if she was trying to not breathe and not punch Ron at the same time. Ron rolled off and collected his books, as well as hers. She looked disgustedly at him and snatched her books from him, muttering about bloody inconsiderate Gryffindors. Ron grinned sourly at her before looking away. Blaise Zabini was probably the only sixth year Slytherin Ron could stand, simply because she never said anything. Whether it was because she was like Crabbe and Goyle, too thick to string a sentence together, or too conceited to talk to anyone who couldn't give her diamond earrings and a matching necklace, she didn't bother them, so he returned the behavior.

"All of you, in class. Now!" Snape barked. Ron and Harry were more than willing to follow his orders. They walked in past their unctuous professor and took their usual seats. Ron did notice that their seats were the same in both, except Hermione sat up front with Neville as her partner. Come to think of it, Neville seemed to be her only partner in classes, either that or she sat alone. Did she have any friends at all? Parvati and Lavender had always been too _girly_ for Hermione. It was hard to form lasting friendships with the students from other houses or years, unless there were out-of-school connections, and from the looks of it, none of the Gryffindor boys were chummy with her either. Save Neville, her class "study buddy." What about Ginny? She and Ginny got on well. Was her friendship with Ginny only because of him?

_ "It's no wonder no one can stand her, she's a nightmare, honestly. . . . She must've noticed she's got no friends."_

First year. . . . Ron said that! Did it continue like that? Was Hermione always known as a nightmare? The know-it-all loner? No! Hermione would have made at least one friend within six years! Someone would have befriended her. _'Who?'_ thought the voice in the back of Ron's mind. _'You said yourself it's extremely difficult to carry on relationships with different years and different houses. Plus, it's awfully hard to make new friends when you're in the back of the library, your head always stuck in a book. Hermione wasn't the one to initiate the friendship; Harry and I did when we saved her from that troll.'_

No, Hermione had to have made _some_ friends. You couldn't go five and a half years at one school and not make a single friend. Did they get into another row? Did they stop talking after the Yule Ball? No, that couldn't be right. That didn't affect Sirius. Did they never resolve the Scabbers and Crookshanks incident? That would make sense, but that didn't affect Harry. Hermione wouldn't stop being friends with Harry because she and Ron ended their friendship over _their_ pets. There had to be _some_ explanation! In this world, he and Harry hated her. Something had to have happened between both of them and her. That was the only answer. She or they must have done something to stop talking.

She had to have friends. Just because she wasn't the most _social_ person in the world didn't mean she was anti-social. No, she and Ginny were friends. They had to have been. Ron was sure Hermione had friends. He was never in the common room to see her with them. _'The only night you even went through the common room was to work on that essay, and Hermione was in the library. Remember?'_ nagged the voice again. That was true; she was in the library. But that didn't mean she had no friends. That was just Hermione. She spent her time in the library. _'That's right. The library is a quiet place for our wonderful bookworm to read and escape the noise of others_. The library isn't exactly where someone goes to socialize. Hermione would spend all her time in the library if she didn't have you and Harry. Now she doesn't. Don't be surprised if she _does_ spend all of her time there.'_ Ron told the voice in the back of his head to shut up, not really noticing that he was telling himself to shut up. That voice was wrong. Even bookworms needed to interact with other people some time. She wasn't an isolationist. She just couldn't be, and he'd prove that voice wrong._

"Ron? Give me your essay," Harry whispered over to Ron. Ron awoke from his reverie. He rummaged through his book bag for the essay he completed two nights before. He looked in his book where he saved it, pulled it out, and passed it on to Harry.

Ron glanced over to where Neville and Hermione sat. Neville was drumming his fingers on the desk nervously while Hermione read a book. It was strange that, with only two extra minutes, she would have rather read her book than talk to Neville. Five minutes wasn't even enough time to read half a page in the gigantic books Hermione lugged about. Ron tore his eyes away from her as he heard sniffled laughing on the other side of the room. Snape dismissed himself for a moment to gather a few extra supplies and instructed them to stay quiet. As the door to the storeroom shut behind him, the Slytherins' laughing became louder and boisterous.

Malfoy and Blaise looked at each other; then Blaise ruffled her auburn hair. She put on an arrogant, stuck-up expression (which really wasn't hard for her to do) and tucked a book to her chest protectively.

"Malfoy," she spat with a smile. She stood up and walked around the classroom, looking at her feet, still clutching the book tightly to her chest. "I'm Hermione Granger! Watch as I walk around staring at my dull feet and walk right past you when you insult me. I'm too _snobby_ and _scared and _mature_ to stand up for myself, even though I'm a _Gryffindor_. I'm too busy sticking my nose in a book I've probably read a hundred times anyway! But we __all know I do this to cover up my tears when Draco says mean things about me. I never talk outside of class because I don't have a life. All I do is sit in the back of the library collecting dust like all those moldy, old books. I've probably read every book in the library five times already, but I have nothing better to do because I don't have any friends. Though none of this matters because I'd rather memorize boring textbooks and information I'll never use because it's the __mature thing to do. Merlin forbid, I __make friends and have __fun!" Ron felt his mind cloud as blood rushed to his reddening face. How dare she say those things about Hermione? That awful girl! What did Hermione do to her? Hermione didn't do anything! She was just like the rest of those evil, slimy Slytherins._

"Granger couldn't make friends even if she tried," Malfoy sneered with a hint of sadistic amusement in his voice. "No one would want to be with a bossy, know-it-all, suck up, loner Mudblood."

Ron couldn't take it anymore. He didn't care at all if he wasn't _supposed_ to like Hermione. Malfoy hadn't changed at all between lives. He wouldn't get away with saying those things about her, nor would Blaise. Ron's fists clenched and he stood up almost knocking his chair to the ground.

"Shut up, Malfoy!" Ron yelled across the room.

"Sticking up for the Mudblood, are we, Weasley?" Malfoy asked, raising his eyebrow, only provoking Ron more. Ron's fists tightened to the point his nails dug into his palm and his knuckles turned white. 

"I don't care if it is Her- Granger! Stop saying things like that! Do you understand?"

"Since when did you start handing out orders?" Malfoy drawled coolly.

Ron strode over to him in a few, purposeful steps, his mind still clouded with rage. Harry reached for his robes to hold him back, but Ron pulled away. He picked Malfoy up by the collar and faced him eye-to-eye, which was only a few inches apart. "When I was strong enough to beat your brains out, that's when," Ron said in a deathly calm. Snape opened the door to find Ron holding Malfoy up by his collar.

"What is going on here? WEASLEY! Set him down! Fifteen points from Gryffindor!" 

Ron did as he was told, none too gently. Instead of setting him down, Ron threw him down to the ground, loosing another fifteen points. Snape called him up to his desk. Ron didn't care about a detention. The arsehole deserved it.

"Yes, Professor?" Ron asked calmly, as if nothing was wrong.

"What is the meaning of this, Weasley?" Snape spat, holding up his essay.

"That's my essay, sir," Ron said, as if it was obvious, which it was.

"I'm fully aware of that, Weasley. What I'm wondering is _why_ it is only half completed?"

"WHAT?" Ron asked, pulling the essay out of Snape's hand. How was that possible? He did it two nights ago! No. . . . NO! Damn. He _did_ only write half. He remembered now. He went up early because of his headache! Damn. It.

"I'm sorry, but you see, I've been in the hospital wing for the past two days. I haven't had much time . . ." Ron began, looking Snape straight in the eye.

"You've had the assignment for a week, Weasley. Take this," said Snape, filling out a piece of parchment, sealing it into an envelope, and handing it to Ron, "straight to Professor McGonagall. Get out of my classroom."

Ron stared at Snape incredulously. Snape was kicking him out? The only time that happened was when someone did something very bad! Bugger! Ron walked to gather his things, but he stopped in his tracks when he saw Hermione glaring at him with a look that could cremate the immortal.

"I didn't need _you_ to do stand up for me, _Weasel. I can take care of myself," she whispered nastily._

Ron stared at her disbelievingly before continuing his journey to his seat. He collected his book bag and headed out the door. For the second time in three days, whispers followed Ron as he left a classroom. Ron heard the Slytherins snickering and laughing at him, and he would have given Malfoy a very rude hand gesture if Snape wasn't sitting there.

Ron walked through the corridor up to McGonagall's room. He looked inside, but she was busy giving a lesson. He debated his choices. Snape did say to take this straight to her, but she might yell at him. Ron looked at her class. Good, only first years, and they were taking time to work on their kettles. Ron opened the door and walked up to McGonagall. The tired first years looked up to investigate what all the commotion was about. He handed McGonagall the letter and glanced behind him. Ron recognized the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw robes and Harry's little distant relative, Mark Evans. Harry and Mark had become close (well, as close as a sixteen-year-old and eleven-year-old could get), so Ron and Mark knew each other as well. Professor McGonagall tapped on his shoulder, and Ron whirled around.

"Wait outside, Weasley." Ron walked out of the classroom and sat against the wall, waiting for the lesson to end. When the bell rang about thirty minutes later, the small first years ran out of the classroom. Ron stood to talk to McGonagall when Mark Evans stopped next to him. Ron looked down at the eleven-year-old.

"Hiya, Mark," said Ron unenthusiastically.

"Hi, Ron!" he replied brightly. "What are you doing here?"

"I have to talk with McGonagall," Ron said in the same tone.

"Oh, really? What about?" 

Ron groaned inwardly; he really didn't want to chat it up with Mark at the moment. "Snape sent me," he replied simply.

"Did you get in trouble?"

"Why else would have Snape sent me to the head of the House?" said Ron, still bored.

"What'd you do?" Mark asked rapidly. The door opened behind Ron, and Professor McGonagall stepped out, looking very stern. Mark looked up at her with fearful eyes and scurried away. 

_'Mental, that one,'_ Ron thought, staring after the young boy who strangely reminded him of a younger Colin Creevey.

"Come with me, Weasley." Ron followed her down the corridor a bit and into her study. She motioned for Ron to sit down while another person entered the room as she was about to close the door. Ron's eyes widened as their toad of a Headmistress sat down in a chair in the back of the room. Damn! Damn! Damn! What was she doing here?

"Hello, Minerva, Mr. Weasley!" said Umbridge sweetly.

"_Headmistress," McGonagall replied, extremely strained. "Would you like a biscuit? Take one, Weasley." She pushed a plaid tin full of Cinnamon Toads toward him. Ron reached in and took one._

"Well, I heard that our Mr. Weasley here was having some _homework_ and _disciplinary_ problems; is that true, Minerva?" she asked in a venomously sweet tone. Ron felt like vomiting. McGonagall stared loathingly at Umbridge as she looked down at her clipboard. 

"Yes," McGonagall replied curtly before turning away from Umbridge, pretending she wasn't there. "Now, Mr. Weasley, what is this about your essay being only partially completed?" Ron could just _feel_ the smug smile on Umbridge's face. Ron turned around a bit and saw that Umbridge indeed had that infuriating smug smile on her amphibian face.

"I started it the night after you talked to me –"

"_Hem hem!"_

"– but since I was in the hospital wing, I couldn't complete it."

"Yes, Do - _Headmistress_?" McGonagall asked impatiently, drumming her fingers on her desk.

"You called him out of your classroom, Minerva? Why wasn't I notified? I thought I made it clear that all Professors are to notify me when a student behaves improperly. Why, after those two awful Weasley boys last year. . . ." 

'_They were only awful to you, fat wench.'_

"He was ill," said McGonagall flatly.

"Following our friend Mr. Potter's mental condition, I see," said Umbridge quietly, scribbling a note on her clipboard. Nevertheless, both Ron and McGonagall heard her. Ron was about to slap her; however, McGonagall gave him a warning look.

"Now, it says here that you had all week to do the assignment. It also says you were creating a ruckus in class. Why is that?"

"Just like his brothers, those disorderly, awful boys – all the parents' fault, I'm sure. They can't even raise their children," Umbridge muttered, just audible enough for Ron to hear. Ron's fists tightened again.

"Someone said some rude things to another person," said Ron through gritted teeth, remembering Malfoy was still one of Umbridge's favorites. _'All because of his evil, conniving Death Eater father.'_

"Who to whom, dear?" Umbridge asked, pleasantly curious. Ron couldn't (nor wanted to) restrain rolling his eyes disgustedly at her. Professor McGonagall must have seen because a small smile played at her lips.

"Draco Malfoy called Hermione Granger a Mudblood."

"You're lying!" cried Umbridge. "Mr. Malfoy is part of the Inquisitorial Squad, and he would _never_ say anything of the sort! He has a spotless reputation and a wonderful, caring personality! Detention for lying to your Headmistress and making up rumors about a fellow student." 

_'If Malfoy is a wonderful, caring person; then you're Dumbledore, and I'm Pig's shi–' _

"Now, Dolores. . . " started McGonagall.

"_Headmistress, and if you wouldn't mind, __Minerva, I would like to see Mr. Weasley's records," said Umbridge, not so sweetly anymore. Ron rolled his eyes; the toad was on a power trip._

"I'm afraid those are confidential; only he and I may view them," said McGonagall, obviously not very sorry. Ron doubted very much that the Head wasn't allowed to view records, but Umbridge was so daft, she would fall for it.

"And _I am the High Inquisitor and Headmistress of this school! Now, let me see them!" _

_'Right, she's not that__ thick, but she still an idiot.'_

McGonagall ignored her and continued talking to Ron. "Weasley, I believe a detention is in order for your poor solution to this problem."

"_HEM, HEM!"_

"Headmistress?" snarled McGonagall.

"I believe I asked for Mr. Weasley's records. You may be the head of his House, but I am still in charge of this school! Hand them to me."

McGonagall continued to ignore her. "You are dismissed, Weasley. I will send the information of your detention with an owl tomorrow morning. Here's a pass to your next class." She wrote him a note, and Ron took it from her, nervously watching Umbridge's brainless lard-head turn purple. He crept away, wondering what Umbridge would say.

"WEASLEY! COME BACK HERE THIS INSTANT!" Yes, she had _loads to say. Ron turned back around and sat in his chair in front of McGonagall. She was flipping through his records._

"How dare you! Those are confidential!" cried McGonagall.

But it was Umbridge's turn to ignore her. "Tut, tut, tut, Mr. Weasley. Such poor grades! Just like your brothers. You are Gryffindor Quidditch captain, are you not?" she asked in her sickeningly sweet voice again. Ron nodded, the anger in his stomach swelling.

"I don't see how it is fitting to have a captain with such awful grades! Continuous disobedience . . . failing marks . . . the majority of assignments either late or missing in the past two months . . . attacking students . . . _hallucinations_? Dear me! It seems you are most definitely unfit for your position on the team, Mr. Weasley. You _are_ fit for a spot at St. Mungo's, however." Umbridge chuckled at her own sick, little joke as Ron desperately tried to calm himself; his eyes burned with hatred.

"I believe the right of suspension or removal of a Quidditch team member is my job, Headmistress. I understand that you are _far too busy_ to deal with such trivial matters."

"Oh, no, none of my students are ever _trivial_, Minerva. I'm just looking out for their welfare! If our Mr. Weasley's education is suffering because of his captaincy, then perhaps we should appoint another. And these hallucinations? The boy could be dangerous. I'm only looking out for the school's safety."

_ 'You never look at anything but Fudge, yourself, and sweets. Best start taking your eyes off the sweets; you're looking hefty around the middle and in your big head.'_

"Mr. Weasley's grades are good enough to stay on the team. If his education was suffering past the point where we would have to suspend him, I'd be the first to know. He was ill – it was not a mental condition, and he is not dangerous," said McGonagall curtly, anger rising in her voice.

"Nonetheless, I would be _much_ more comfortable knowing that Mr. Weasley was getting his full education and the other students were out of potential danger. Who knows what might happen on that broom? Mr. Weasley, you have one week to find a suitable replacement."

Ron had never wanted to hit a woman. His mother always told him never to do so. But Ron decided he would change his mind about _Headmistress _Umbridge. He didn't just want to hit her; he wanted to kick her arse all the way to Egypt where she would die a slow, painful death from dehydration and fry up in the heat. Then sand creatures and insects would slowly eat her carcass until the sand buried her bare bones for all eternity.

"No! What if I found help to bring those grades up? Could I stay captain?" Ron pleaded, looking at McGonagall.

"I don't see why not," said McGonagall, "if Weasley is willing to do the work and put his studies before anything else." 

_'Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! I will never have any late homework in her class again. Thank you! Thank you!' _

"Give him a second chance when he should have done the work in the first place?" asked Umbridge. "Hardly seems fair. What about our Mr. Malfoy? He has done perfect work along with his Quidditch, Inquisitorial, and prefect duties. In fact, Mr. Malfoy came to me with a recommendation for the Ministry. He has worked _so hard and is such a wonderful boy. If Weasley decided to ignore his duties as a student, why should we give him a chance to come back up to Mr. Malfoy's level? Not that it would ever happen when Mr. Malfoy has done excellently all year."_

"Look who's talking fair. . . " Ron mumbled. "Evil hag."

"How about Ron makes up all of his work in the next month without one tardy or missing paper? If he has one late or missing paper, he will be suspended from captaincy until next year." 

Ron nodded his head vigorously in agreement.

"I'm sorry, Minerva. I believe it would be in the team's and Mr. Weasley's best interest to pass along the duty to someone more responsible. In fact, I think if his mind is _off_ Quidditch completely, he'll be better able to concentrate on his studies. I can't make exceptions. All of my students are equal!" 

_'Only if they pay you off.'_

"You can't do that! You can't kick me off the team!"

"I believe I not only can, but just did," she replied, smiling brightly. Ron mumbled some curses under his breath.

"Let Harry back on the team then! He's doing well; he's the best we've got!" Ron shouted.

Umbridge's smile disappeared. "Mr. Potter has been banned from Quidditch for life. Find a replacement within the next week. Your captaincy will end there. I do believe, after viewing your averages and marks, if you don't shape up, you'll be repeating sixth year," she finished pseudo-sternly. Ron could feel her smile trying to break through. Any day that wench hurt him or Harry was a good day in her book. Fat cow.

"But, Headmistress, I'll do anything! Give me another chance," Ron pleaded. "How is it in the best interest of the team to have the only somewhat experienced player and captain leave?"

"They'll get by. My mind is made up. Good day, Mr. Weasley, Minerva. Good luck with that schoolwork!" And with that, Dolores Jane Umbridge, High Inquisitor and Headmistress of Hogwarts left the room, a certain pleasure in her wake. 

"Professor, this isn't fair! Can't you do anything about it?" Ron asked, looking at his last and only hope.

"I tried already, Mr. Weasley. Dolores Umbridge is the most wicked and incompetent woman I have ever met. With stupidity like that and high power, she can do almost anything she wants. She is the _High Inquisitor,_ after all. Her word is law in this school, Mr. Weasley," said McGonagall gravely. "However, she did say something worthy of consideration. You are in danger of repeating this year if you continue the way you are. I would suggest finding a respectable tutor. I would hate you to take the year over, Mr. Weasley. You have so much hidden potential."

"So that's it then? I'm _permanently banned_ from Quidditch, just like Harry and my brothers?"

"Now, Mr. Weasley, she didn't say that," replied McGonagall, a small amount of confidence in her voice. "If you can pull your grades up, there's a hope of regaining your position." 

"She's a real hag, isn't she?" Ron asked himself, picking up a Cinnamon Toad and staring at the door.

"Yes, and she's working under our ignorant Minister," replied McGonagall, apparently hearing him.

Ron left McGonagall's office for the common room. He had to assign a new captain and Keeper. The team would not like this in the least. Ron crumpled up the cookie in his fist, pretending it was Umbridge's face.

* * *

Ron walked through the castle at a very fast rate to the emergency Quidditch practice he had called. He had been up in his dorm, thinking about anything he could do to change Umbridge's mind. He still couldn't believe it. That tyrant removed him, not only from the captaincy, but from his Keeping too! Last year, Ron didn't think he could hate that woman any more, after she tried to perform the Cruciatus Curse on Harry, but then she had to go and pull this malarkey! What was the team going to do?

He had to find a captain, plain and simple, by the middle of next week. Who would be the best? It was usually the Chaser or Keeper who was captain. Was Ginny Seeker because Harry had been _banned_ (_'Load of bloody bollocks . . . unbelievable!'_ Ron would mumble to himself) the previous year? Probably. She would make a good captain. She did have four older brothers and Harry, who all were Quidditch obsessed and had played on the team. Charlie even led the team to victory a few years ago.

"Ron! Wait up! I heard you called an emergency Quidditch practice or something like that. What's going on? I haven't seen you all day since Snape sent you to see McGonagall. What'd she do?" Harry asked quickly.

"Umbridge showed up," Ron said simply.

"Oh, no, what'd _she_ do? I know she did something."

"Let's just say I'm going to be very busy, tired, and grouchy for the next week." Harry decided his cryptic answer was unsatisfactory.

"_Why?" Harry pressed. Ron groaned and told Harry everything. About being removed, about the grades, about the tutor. Harry gaped at him, his eyes flashing with disbelieving fury. _

As the two sixteen-year-olds walked across the field, Ron could see the rest of the team patiently waiting, talking in a circle, holding their brooms ready to fly. Ron looked over at Harry; his face was directed at the sky in hopeless desire. _'Harry must feel awful. He can't play at all in this world and hasn't really _played for two years.'__

"Ron, what's going on?" asked their new Chaser, Bridget Snow. Everyone looked up at him expectantly. Ron noticed there was no redhead.

"Uh . . . I've got some bad news," Ron started softly, almost inaudibly. Some of them strained to hear him, yet all were staring eagerly.

"Which is. . . ?" pressed the second Chaser, Ryan Selwere.

"I've been kicked off the Quidditch team," Ron said bluntly, louder this time. The whole team exploded. They bombarded him with questions, panicky cries, and groaning to no end.

"What do you mean you've been kicked off?"

"Who kicked you off?"

"Why did they?"

"Weasley, what are we going to do?"

"You can't help us at all?"

"What about the match coming up in a fortnight?"

"WE DON'T HAVE A BLEEDIN' CAPTAIN, MCDOUGALL! THE DAMN MATCH IS THE LEAST OF OUR WORRIES!"

"Oi! Oi! You lot, shut it!" Ron yelled over the team, but they didn't hear him. "SHUT UP!"

The team followed their captain's, or former captain's, instructions. They all stared up at him, confused and distraught. Ron told them the story of what happened in McGonagall's study with Umbridge. They, all of whom disliked Umbridge with a passion, scrunched up their faces in disgust and hatred. The Beaters, Andrew Kirke and Jack Sloper from the year before, were muttering curses under their breath. The two Beaters were no Fred and George, but Angelina worked wonders with those two fifth years. They actually turned out to be quite good.

Harry and Ron had loads of fun working with them in the "other" life. Building off what Angelina taught them, and working with them even more. Ron really loved playing Quidditch, (after he got over the I'm-awful-and-it's-all-my-fault-the-team-is-losing pity party), and he loved being co-captain with Harry.

"Well," Ron started again. He was so preoccupied with his thoughts he didn't notice the whole team quiet down in unbelieving shock. Doing the same as he - thinking about the injustice of it all. "I have a week to find a suitable replacement. I'm going to post a note on the bulletin board, but tell all your friends. We need all the recruits we can find. Now, enough of that; into positions!" They all mounted their brooms and flew up.

"I still can't believe this! It's awful!"

"Don't need to tell me twice. I've gone through this in my mind more times than I can count and nothing. NOTHING will change her mind. It's her bloody mission in life to make those who won't kiss her arse miserable."

"Are you sure nothing will work?"

"Harry, you're talking about the woman who tried to perform _Crucio on you, took over Hogwarts with her band of Inquisitorial Squad imbeciles, and has Cornelius 'I'm a selfish, conceited moron' Fudge wrapped around her chubby finger. Do you really think she's going to care a hippogriff's arse about what Ron Weasley wants? She's Fudge's puppet for the school. She only cares about what Fudge cares about, and all Fudge cares about is one, ignoring the fact that You-Know-Who is back; two, the highest donator and supporter of his ideas, and most importantly, himself. You are also talking about the woman who was outsmarted by an extremely clever fifteen-year-old girl. Umbridge is an idiot," Ron finished slowly before mounting his broom and hovering up a few feet. "Harry? Can you look out for who _you_ think would be best? Your judgment hasn't steered us wrong yet! Well, in Quidditch, that is."_

"Then why are you captain?"

"Umbridge," Ron replied simply. "If it weren't for that cow, you'd be captain. Not me." _'That's not true! You'd be co-captains, dolt,'_ sang that pesky voice in the back of his mind. He told it to shut up. Ron flew over to his goal posts to practice with the Chasers.

Ron blocked a particularly difficult shot aimed at the left post, when he heard someone shouting for him down on the ground. He flew over a bit and looked down as the Quaffle hit him in the head. He barely heard Ryan shout his apologies over the ringing in Ron's ears. He looked back down to where a girl with bushy, light chestnut hair and a Gryffindor scarf wrapped around her neck was holding the Quaffle. She shouted for him again, tapping her foot impatiently. Ron decided to fly down to Hermione before she had a verbal conniption fit. She hurled the ball at him as soon as he was on the ground. He almost smiled at her, but then remembered that they "hated" one another. Ron rolled his eyes inwardly at the thought. Sure, he and Hermione didn't get on well all the time, but who did? They often had slight disagreements, seldom _real_arguments, and he would tease her, but they were still best friends. Ron couldn't hate Hermione; he just liked to ruff up her feathers when she was acting overly demanding or bossy. It wasn't as if they fought _all the time! They actually got on very well. Anyone who couldn't see that about Hermione and Ron's relationship was blind._

"Hello, He – Granger," Ron said, as nastily as he could, trying to sound natural.

"Weasley," she spat, "I wanted to talk to you."

"I gathered that from the fact you've been calling me like I was a bloody dog for a while now." _'Wow! That was good!'_

"No reason to be rude, I just wanted to talk business," she said curtly.

"Why else would you want to speak to me?"

Hermione didn't have a problem letting out an annoyed sigh and roll of the eyes – this Hermione's forte mannerism. Ron had never before seen anyone roll his or her eyes with such loathing and irritation.

"Listen, I don't have much time to exchange witty comebacks. Let's just end it now. I heard about your situation, and I have a proposition for you," said Hermione, very passive and businesslike. 

_'Damn, she's good.'_

"How'd you hear about it?" Ron asked, narrowing his eyes. No, he didn't like this Hermione, too hostile and malicious for his taste.

"I have told you repeatedly that you have a big mouth," she said bitterly. 

_'Whoa, this is really creeping me out.'_

"Thanks," Ron replied disgustedly. "What's this _proposition_?"

"Glad you asked," she said mock-sweetly. "You did say you needed a tutor, did you not? My proposition is let me tutor you."

"Why? I don't have money, and I doubt you're looking for a date."

"Don't be disgusting. All I want is some extra credit in my classes and a recommendation for the Ministry."

"Why would you want to work at the Ministry?" Ron asked rhetorically.

"We aren't pouring out our hearts to each other, so let's stick to topic. Do you or do you not want my help? I already talked to McGonagall, and she thinks it's a wonderful idea. She obviously knows your procrastinating, one-track Quidditch mind could use my study skills. It's a win-win situation, Weasley. You get your marks up, unfortunately move on to seventh year, and you get back your precious Quidditch spot. I get my extra credit and Ministry recommendation."

"What if I don't want to?" Ron asked through gritted teeth.

"You'll miss out on a chance to bring your grades up. I can still get that recommendation; it'll just be a bit harder. You're on the profitable side of things here. I'm only trying to help. It's just a sixth year recommendation looks better than seventh."

"You already have loads of recommendations; why do you need mine?"

"I already told you this isn't soul sharing, chit chat time. Are you in, or are you out? You need me," said Hermione haughtily.

"Fine," Ron grumbled, looking away from her smug, victorious face.

"Good!" she said brightly, turning toward the castle. "I'll see you Friday night at seven o'clock in the library. Look for me; I'll be in the back. Don't be late."

No, he did not like this Hermione one single bit.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Did you like Bitchy!Hermione? I had the BEST TIME EVER writing her. Now all I have to do is make her drunk and I can die happy!

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know I nicked the chapter name from Lemony Snicket (whose books are awesome! I read the first three in like four days). Sue. Me. I dare you! :-D

**Thank you to my checkmated beta, ****Liberty****, and Eleena Thea, my psycho, melodramatic friend and great beta!**

I found something out today that I never knew before. You people don't like it when writers ask for reviews, huh? See, I don't have a problem with that because I ignore them anyway! :-D So from this moment on, I am no longer asking for reviews, and I would also like to say that I like to hear feedback from people and it's not a dumb recognition thing. It's a motivation thing. I just wanted to clear that up. ;)

But onto the reviewer thing. . . .

Thank you so much to all my reviewers!

**Mousse-** Hey, what can I say? Ron's a pretty slow guy sometimes, but we all love him! 3 :-D Oh, I know that the title gave it away, but it's not ending (or beginning!) but the journey to get there. *insert evil laugh here* Thanks for the review!

**Mystikalolo-** Did you like Umbridge? I liked her in a spawn of Satan way and that she must die. Oh, I lied about the length of the next chapter. I'm on the Sunday afer the Quidditch game and it's three times as long as normal. *coughnineteenpagescough* So – er – it's going to be a bit longer than I predicted. Now I'm predicting 5-8 times longer. So, um, 15,000-24,000 words. :-D Thanks for the review! (P.S. Just because I like you, I'll send you the chapter before I put it up ;-D )

**Sweet Stephy- **Rocks like heck? COOL! Thanks for the review!

**Kemenran-** Well, I certainly can't tell you what happens! Thanks for the review though :)

**Eirauqcam**** Suruaseht- Here you go! Most stories start up weird, but they even out eventually. Thanks for sticking with it and even moreso for the review. In fact, it was your review that reminded me that I have to post here! *blushes***

Thanks to all my readers and reviewers!

Olivia Frost


	5. Chapter 5: Mr Hothead Meets Ms FleshEate...

*~*~*~*~*~*

The Troll

By Olivia Frost

Chapter 5: Mr. Hothead Meets Ms. Flesh-Eater

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Ron gathered up his books and made his way down to the library. It had been a very long week. The past five days, since he arrived in this "world," everything seemed harder. He couldn't say for sure what, but there was something different besides the fact that Hermione disliked him very much. No, it was something else. Something was tugging at his mind, and he had no idea what it was. He didn't even think of possibilities. No, Ron had enough on his plate, trying to adjust very quickly to his new environment, homework, and that hag, Umbridge; he didn't even try to think about the mystery anymore. His body and mind were so tired, and the weekend looked wonderful. He would sleep in until ten, nick food from the kitchens, and play chess with Harry.

He opened the door and looked around. Madam Pince was busying herself with a very large pile of books, and that was all. Nobody ever really went in the library on Friday nights. A few would be scattered about on Saturdays and loads on Sunday, but rarely would you see more than five people in the library (including Hermione and Madam Pince) on a Friday night.

Ron suddenly remembered that he had to meet Hermione and moved to the back of the library. Hermione was already hard at work, scribbling down notes. Ron was sure that writing so much was bad for one's health, especially the wrists, but it escaped his mind, and he put his things down on the table.

"You're on time. At least you can do something right," she said, writing her last sentence with a flourish.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Ron asked angrily. Hermione was really getting on his nerves.

"If you did something right, you wouldn't be here, would you? Sit down," she commanded, pointing at the chair. Ron sat. This wasn't going to work if she was going to be a dictating freak. Of course, nothing ever worked if Hermione was bossing people around, but that was beside the point. He wasn't going to let Hermione Granger push him around.

Hermione opened her mouth to continue speaking, but Ron cut her off. "Listen, this isn't going to work if _you're_ always bossing _me_ around."

"I do not _boss_ you around," she said shrilly. "I'm your tutor; it's my job to tell you what to do."

"Well, you don't need to be rude about it! Instead of _telling me what to do_, why don't you _show_ me what to do? That's a tutor's job, not yelling at me like I'm a child."

"You're sure acting like a child! Huffing about, neglecting your studies for a lap around the Quidditch pitch – it's my job to get away from those childish proclivities and more toward adulthood, which you are rapidly approaching," she replied in a very adult, almost McGonagall-like, manner. Ron cocked a confused eyebrow, but she paid him no mind and continued, less hostile, but just as serious and businesslike as ever. "In case you didn't know, I've tutored people before. These are tests to see where you are in the year. Finish them tonight by eleven o'clock." 

Ron looked down at one of the tests, which happened to be Potions, and the first question asked, "How many drops of Venomous Tentecula acid is used in a Restoanim Potion?" His eyes bugged out of their sockets. He scanned down the page a bit more.

"Are you mad? You want me to finish all of these in four hours?" Ron cried incredulously.

"If you know the material, it shouldn't be hard," she answered simply.

"Only you would be able to get a hundred on these!" Ron replied, skimming down all the tests and throwing them carelessly on the table.

"Listen, you're the one who needs help; these tests are here to show me what you _already know. I said eleven o'clock because that's when the library closes. If you need more time, take it! I don't care; just get them done. Oh, here's a list of what I want you to accomplish over the next week – by next Friday." She slid the list in his book and closed it. She walked away to the other side of the library, and Ron started on the Potions test first. He did his homework in "real life." How hard could this be?_

Two and a half hours later, Ron was done with his third test. He noticed that each test took forty-five minutes. The tests weren't too hard, a bit difficult and long, but not very hard. It was just a waste of time, but if it got him back the only thing he could depend on (Quidditch), he'd do anything he could. Hermione came back and looked down at him. Ron didn't even notice she had been gone this entire time! Where'd she been?

"Where've you been?" Ron asked, taking the opportunity to take a moment's rest.

"Getting a book," she replied simply and sat down in her chair.

"You've been gone over two hours retrieving a book?"

"I was talking with Madam Pince, also; is that all right with you? Why don't you go back to your test?" she snapped and sat down across from Ron.

"No, I want a break anyway. What book is it?"

"It's an old book," she answered passively then flipped to the first page. This book wasn't large like the other books she hauled about. This book was smaller, like some of the books back at the Burrow.

"What is it called?" Ron repeated. "It must be a good book if you searched for it for – what? – an hour?"

"It was in an unused, _extremely_ disorganized part of the library."

"What's it called?" he repeated, a bit annoyed at Hermione for ignoring him.

"You'll keep pestering me until I tell you the title, won't you?"

"Yep. What's it called?"

"_The Burning of My Heart," she mumbled._

"What is it about? Is it a nonfiction book on the sexual surge of hormones during puberty?" Ron asked sarcastically. Hermione glared at him, a blush creeping on her cheeks.

"No, actually, it's about lo–"

"–Love. I could have guessed that, but what strikes me as interesting is that you are reading a _fictional book_. Since when did you start reading fiction?"

"Why don't you just work on your test?"

"I think that _you_ want some romantic action in your life. Why else would you read _The Burning of My Heart_?" Ron said in a disgusted male tone. Hermione never read fiction, and the mere thought of Hermione fantasizing about kissing someone like – oh – Terry Boot was a bit disturbing.

"Because it's good, and I can read fiction if I so please. Now work on your test. You're wasting time."

"You said I have unlimited time," retorted Ron with a smarmy grin.

"Listen, Weasley, I don't have to be here. I can go up to the common room if I so please, but I won't. Just leave me alone and work on those tests, or we can go over _everything_ already covered this year."

Ron glared at her and started on his fourth test. He finished by eleven, as Hermione predicted, and gathered up his things. He was so concentrated on those damn tests he didn't notice Hermione had fallen asleep, her head in her hand and the book closed in her lap with a finger saving her place. As much as he detested this "Hermione," he figured that he might as well wake her. 

Ron noticed that Hermione looked different when sleeping. She had an innocent, relaxed look that most people had when sleeping, but this was different. He'd seen her sleep before, but there was something, he didn't know what, just strange about the way _this_ Hermione slept. Perhaps the fact that he loathed her made her look more peaceful, but in a way, she looked more . . . innocent? Now fully looking at her, she looked similar to an angel, not angelic, gorgeous, and saintly like in Muggle children's books, but like sculptures of angels in a Muggle churches and Bibles. She looked peaceful, beautiful, innocent, and graceful, yet depressed, lonely, and lost in the world. It was strange to see confident, bossy, hard-working, know-it-all Hermione – his best friend – look as if she were about to cry. _'She's just having a bad dream,' Ron thought to himself. He took _The Burning of My Heart_ out of her sleeping hands, marked the page, and set it with her other books._

"Hermione? Hermione, wake up," Ron whispered, poking her in the arm. He wasn't exactly sure how to wake a girl up.

"Ow, stop poking me," she groaned, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Ron pulled away quickly as she glared up at him. "Are you done?"

"Why else would I wake you up?" Ron asked grouchily.

Hermione gathered her things and walked with Ron to the common room in silence. On the way up there, she seemed deep in thought and even turned to him a few times as if to say something. Ron, on more than one occasion, wanted to yell out "WHAT?" but restrained. He went to bed that night feeling strange, the way he felt if he forgot something. He decided to ignore it and went to sleep within a few minutes.

~*~

Ron awoke to a pillow pounding into his head quite forcefully. Ron's nose felt as if it were being pushed into his face, and he brought his hand up to snatch away the pillow. He easily pulled it away and threw it at his attacker.

Seamus laughed with mirth, and Neville scolded him. Ron sat up and rubbed his eyes. Dean was looking through a few comic books, Neville was brushing his hair, and Harry was rummaging through his trunk, muttering about some matching socks without Snitches or holes.

Ron stepped out of bed, found a set of clothes, and went to the loo to take a shower. Harry asked Neville if he had a loaner pair of socks, and Seamus said something about loaning him some. Ron looked into the mirror. He looked like crap. His hair was sticking up, his face was oily, and he had bags under his eyes. Nothing a good shower couldn't cure.

A little while later, Ron came out dressed and considerably refreshed. Harry was sitting on his bed, looking a bit sulky. Ron looked at him strangely until a pair of green socks with dancing shamrocks caught his eye. Ron laughed mercilessly and headed down to the common room before Harry could hurt him. Harry grumbled about Snitches being better then shamrocks any day, and the trunk slammed closed.

When Harry came down, they headed to the Great Hall. Ron was still tired, but a day of lazing about, chess, and Exploding Snap was better than school. The duo sat down and piled food on their plates.

"So how was Granger last night?" Harry asked before taking a sip from his goblet. Dean must have heard and snorted at the "perversity" of this statement.

"I fook fesf's and fee gafe me homewook," Ron said, his mouth full of assorted breakfast foods.

"What kind of homework?"

"I dunno, I nefer rewwy, –" Ron started but then stopped to swallow his food. "I never really looked at it. She just put the list in one of my books."

"Ah. Well, I think you should pick a captain today. That way you can show them the ropes."

"Yeah, I should. I was thinking Ginny, but I haven't seen her. Has she been sick?" Ron asked, taking a big bite of eggs. Harry's eyes widened, and he slowly set down his goblet. Ron was sure that he was about to spit out his pumpkin juice for a moment, but thanked his stars Harry didn't.

"Ron, you're acting strange again. It's not like you to talk about Ginny," Harry said, giving him a pitying face.

"Why wouldn't I talk about my sister?"

"Do you still have amnesia or whatever it was you had? You never talk about Ginny," Harry finished, as if to persuade Ron to shut his cakehole.

"Why don't I talk about Ginny?" Ron asked with curiosity. Was this linked to that separate world thing? Did he and Ginny get into an argument like he and Hermione?

"Ron, stop with the jokes. It's not funny; you're really scaring me," Harry said again in a very serious tone. It was almost as if someone. . . .

"I'm not joking," Ron said in the same seriousness. "What's going on with Ginny? Is everything all right?"

"Ron . . ." Harry started slowly, as if to find the words to best fit the situation. Ron had a feeling about this, and it wasn't good. He was expecting something bad, but he wasn't sure what. What could have happened to his baby sister? "Ron, Ginny's not here. You know that."

Whatever Ron was expecting, that wasn't it. His eyes became the size of Galleons, and his mouth mindlessly scrambled for coherent words. Nothing came. WHAT THE HELL DID HARRY MEAN SHE WASN'T HERE?

"What?" Ron asked with fear and anticipation. He closed his eyes to stop the tears and the pounding in his head. He braced himself for the terrible news to come. Ginny was dead, wasn't she?

"The Chamber of Secrets, Ron. We went down there, but we were too late. Dumbledore came in and defeated Riddle, but Ginny's mind was corrupted by Riddle possessing her. She's in St. Mungo's . . . she went insane. I don't understand why you don't remember. I'm sorry that you don't though."

Ron tried to swallow the large lump in his throat, but it stubbornly stayed. He buried his face in his hands, ignorant to all around him. His head was pounding, and his eyes and body felt heavy. Ginny was in St. Mungo's and had been for the past four years!

He practically killed his baby sister.

_'It's not real! This isn't real! None of this is real! It's not real. It's not real. It's not real. It's not real!' he stubbornly repeated in his mind. This wasn't reality; it was something else. In reality, Ginny wasn't insane. There was nothing to worry about. Whatever this was, it wasn't real. Ginny wasn't insane, he was prefect, he was captain with Harry – none of this was real. So there was nothing to worry about!_

Right?

What if he was stuck here forever? What if this was the new reality? He couldn't take it! He already was having a hard time readjusting; he couldn't just leave his old life. That was all he'd ever known! This wasn't real! None of this was real, and Ron would be damned if he took Ginny's "insanity" seriously! He wasn't stupid. This wasn't real, and what wasn't real wasn't worth believing in.

Everything would be all right. He just had to figure things out.

Why the hell he was here in the first place would be a good place to start.

"Ron? Ron, are you going to be all right? I'm sorry about this, honest," said Harry nervously.

"You didn't do anything," said Ron into his hands.

"That's the problem; if we did something sooner, she'd be okay!"

"Harry, it was four years ago," Ron said, wiping his face. "We can't do anything about it now. I'll be fine; it was a shock, I suppose, but I would've found out anyway. Listen, why don't you pick the captain? I'm going to get some more sleep; Her- Granger had me up until one last night. I'll talk to you later."

"Yeah, all right," said Harry, somewhat unsure of Ron. Ron stood up and started for the common room. Ron was sure Harry was concerned that he, Ron, would commit suicide or slit his wrists or something. Merlin! Poor Harry! He's had Ginny's "insanity" on him for four years! In "reality," he started going mad after three months, and because someone he didn't particularly like or know died. How did this world's Ron react to Ginny? Did he hate Harry? Did he try to? Did he blame it all on himself like Harry always had? How did Harry react thinking he practically killed his best friend's sister? What about Fred, George, Percy, Charlie, Bill, Mum, and Dad? How'd they all take it?

Ron said the password for the Fat Lady and trudged up the stairs. He wasn't in the mood to think about that at the moment, so he pulled out his homework list and started on the first essay. He didn't even notice that the Homework Nazi wanted all of his regular homework turned in on time as well as ten essays done by that next Friday. When he did notice, after the completion of the aforementioned essay, it was safe to say that Ron was ticked off with the bushy-haired, workaholic tutor. 

~*~

Ron, as it came to be, spent his entire Saturday in the dorms working on those damn essays and sleeping. He didn't realize how tired he really was or how much he loved peace and quiet. He thanked his stars that Harry and the other Gryffindors left him alone to himself that day. He really needed time to himself to just forget about all his problems, which were piling up day after day.

When the sun arose on that next day, Ron was refreshed and caught up with all his homework, leaving another day to himself to relax. He followed his daily morning routine and bounded down to the Great Hall to find it almost completely empty. The sun, low in the orange sky, signaled to Ron that, for once in his life, he awoke early. Unable to control his hunger and aching stomach, he sat down and piled the food higher than normal. Some of the onlookers, mainly girls, looked on at him in disgust and pushed their plates away. Ron didn't care and continued to inhale his food.

"Merlin, do you see that girl over there? She's at it again!" Down the table a bit, he heard a fifth year girl say to her sister or cousin. Ron looked over at them, and the girl was pointing down the table in the opposite direction. Ron followed the direction of her finger and found Hermione the subject of their gossip. Ron swallowed his food and listened closer to the gossipy fifteen-year-olds.

"Yeah, what about her?" asked the girl's sister or cousin.

"I can't believe she brought a book with her to breakfast! I mean, the girl always has her head stuck in a book! You'd think all that reading would be bad for your brain!" exclaimed the first girl.

"She does this every morning, Fay. She comes in, sits in the same spot, reads her book, and eats her breakfast. Then she leaves just as most students come in. She never talks to anybody at all," said the second girl.

"Nobody at all? That seems strange. I was sure I've seen her talk to someone before. . . ."

"Granger hasn't got any friends; nobody likes her! Why are we talking about this again?" asked the second girl exasperatedly.

"I just think it's rude, Tillie. I think she doesn't talk to anyone, not the other way around. It's not nobody likes her; she thinks she's too _intelligent_ to talk to us. Personally, I wouldn't want a girl like her as a friend. She would make me feel so inferior!" exclaimed Fay, the first girl.

"I completely agree. The fact that she's stuck-up brings that nobody likes her, and she thinks she's better than we are. Oh! Look over at the Slytherin table! That boy is so handsome," said Tillie, the second girl with a flip of her black-brown hair. Both girls stood up and walked out of the Great Hall, giggling at the cute Slytherin boy. _'Traitors,'_ thought Ron venomously.

Ron looked over at Hermione, who was mindlessly munching on some jammed toast. Honestly, he didn't know what to think. Here was Hermione, his best friend in the real world and a complete tyrant in this one. Even if she had a hard outer core, he was sure that she was the same Hermione on the inside.

But what if she wasn't? What if she wasn't at all like the real Hermione? _'No!'_ exclaimed his mind. _'She's the same! She can't be different! She may be a bit bossy on the outside, but she still is the same Hermione. She has to be!'_ They did have similar, yet very different lives, so they could be completely different.

However, Ron couldn't help that sickening feeling in his stomach that said she wasn't the same at all. That she was completely different because of them.

~*~

Ron and Harry sat down outside in the sunlight next to the lake. The air was crisp and cool, but refreshing at the same time. Ron and Harry laid out a blanket they nicked from the common room and set Ron's chess set on it. Normally they would have played inside, but Ron wanted to get outside before the winter snows completely covered the ground. 

Ron was brutally beating Harry, as usual, when another person approached and interrupted their game. Ron looked up at the person, whose shadow was covering his face. The bushy hair and short figure were easy to recognize.

"Good afternoon, Weasley. Potter," she said passively. "Isn't it a nice day?"

"What is you want, Granger?" Harry asked in a bored tone.

"Well, I was hoping for a _private_ conference with Weasley. If you don't mind, could you leave?" she said nastily. Ron, for the first time in his life, saw Hermione and _Harry_ arguing. Ron decided to avoid the row and stood up to talk with Hermione. Hermione smiled a bit at him and walked far enough away Harry couldn't hear.

"What is it?" Ron asked, momentarily forgetting he "hated" Hermione.

"What are you _doing_?" she whisper-shrieked angrily. Ron wasn't sure exactly what he did wrong but answered her.

"Playing chess."

"_WHY?"_

"I want to?" Ron said, unsure of what exactly he did wrong.

"Right, I should rephrase my question. Why are you playing when you should be working?" 

_'Merlin help me.' "Because I want to," he answered, more sure of his words. She looked at him in disgust and anger. "Listen, Granger, you may be my tutor and all, but I can take care of myself, thank-you-very-much. I don't need you to be my slave driver. If you give me an assignment, I'll get it done."_

"No, Weasley, I know that you'll save it all for the last possible minute! That's what you do! I'm not blind, you know."

"It doesn't matter as long as I get it done, right?"

"No! Actually, it does matter. I'm trying to teach you not to save it for the last minute! That's your problem right there! Now, get off your bum and go work on those essays! I want two done by the end of today," she said bossily.

"No problems then, eh? I'm already done with five of them. I suppose that means I have today, tomorrow and half of the next day off then," said Ron smugly. Hermione glared at him, turned on her heal, and stormed back to the castle.

Ron loved to win arguments.

~*~

Ron had exactly what he predicted. Two and a half days off. Now it was the third day, and he had three essays and Transfiguration homework to finish by the time the library closed in a few hours. He wasn't exactly in the mood to do homework, but the Transfiguration equations were simple, and he did the essays Hermione assigned him along with it. He did the essays earlier in the year. Well, in reality, he did. So they proved to be no trouble at all. He looked up at the clock – five-o-two. If he hurried, he'd have thirty minutes of good flying time. After all this, life proved to be very similar to real life.

Except Hermione hating him – Umbridge – Harry's and his ban from Quidditch – Harry's nightmares – and the fact that Ginny was in St. Mungo's.

So life was very different.

Ron was busy gathering his things; he, again, didn't see a figure walk toward him. He looked up when the light shined off the person's silvery blonde hair. Draco Malfoy, for once unprotected by his goons, walked up and leaned on the table.

"What are you doing here, _Malfoy_? I thought you paid for good marks. . . ." Ron said, narrowing his eyes.

"Clever, Weasel. Actually, I heard you were reading, and I wanted to see this phenomenon for myself. There was a pool going around the Slytherin common room, debating if you really could," Malfoy replied coolly.

"Bugger off, Malfoy."

Malfoy ignored him and picked up one of the books Ron had laying open on the table. "What's this you're reading, Weasel? It looks like all you're other books, worn and third-class." Ron gritted his teeth. He glared at Malfoy and snatched the book out of his grasp.

"In case you didn't hear me before, I'll make my meaning plainer. Nuff. Off," Ron snarled, packing away his essay.

"Your words hurt, Weasley. What's this?" Malfoy asked, again picking up Ron's black, dragon hide notebook Bill gave him for his birthday.

"Give it, Malfoy." Ron reached for his notebook, but Malfoy stepped away and looked through it, snickering to himself at Ron's expense. Ron reached for it again, but Malfoy continued to play cat and mouse. That idiot was going to say something about how Ron couldn't have afforded something like that.

That couldn't have been further from the truth.

"This notebook looks familiar, Weasley. . . . In fact, it looks like an old one of my father's once belonging to a man named _Tom Riddle – oh! I apologize, Weasley. Wasn't he the bloke who sent your wee, ickle sister to St. Mungo's? Dumb girl actually wrote _back_ to him, I heard. Made her cut herself and write on the wall with her blood. Did you know it was your stupid sister the entire time? She deserved it if she was daft enough to trust a book. I bet you're happier now, more money for foo –"_

Malfoy stopped abruptly when Ron bull-rushed him to the floor and punched his face with every bit of strength he had. Ron only wondered why it took him so long to punch Malfoy in the first place. Shock, mostly.

Madam Pince ran over at the sound of the fight and Ron's threats on Malfoy's life.

Ron got several detentions with Pince, and Malfoy got off scot-free.

When Ron was done with his homework and the verbal lashing from Madam Pince, he ran up to the common room. He threw the two essays on Hermione's lap and climbed the stairs to his dorm. Ron put his things on his bed and went to pull his broom out from under its spot.

That's when he remembered that he didn't own broom, and he would have to borrow a school broom. Ron looked out at the lake. The sun would be setting soon, and he would, with luck, have fifteen minutes of sunlight.

Ron sat down on his bed. There was no use to go out now, the air was too cold, and by the time he got down there, he would just have to come back up. It wasn't worth it. He laid down on his pillow and closed his eyes, drifting into sleep.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Ron sat up abruptly and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Harry opened the door and looked strangely at Ron.

"Ron, where were at dinner? Have you been up here?" Harry asked incredulously as he sat on his own bed.

"Yeah, I fell asleep. I'm not too hungry, I suppose," Ron lied. In fact, he was very hungry, and the grumble that came from his stomach made his bluff worthless.

"Sure you're not hungry. . . ."

"Sod off."

"I'll go get you something, if you'd like. I'd fancy a walk around the castle," said Harry, standing up and moving toward the door.

"I'll come with you!" exclaimed Ron, eager to get some change in atmosphere.

"I wish you could, but Granger wants to talk to you. She seemed quite persistent on it." 

_'Damn it, Hermione! I'm hungry!' "Did she say what she wanted?"_

"No, but she did seem rather upset." 

_ 'Shite, shite, shite. She must have found out about my detentions. Shite!' _Ron nodded tiredly, and Harry set off. Ron sat back down on his bed and tried to soothe his rapidly forming headache. This was too much. He didn't need all this! It was too fast! He was going mad! There were too many responsibilities, too many changes, too many everything. He didn't need Hermione on his case. He didn't need Malfoy to provoke him. He didn't need the thought of Ginny in. . . .

Ron sighed heavily and stood up, ready to face the music. He slogged down the stairs and walked over to Hermione, impatiently tapping her foot, her face red with anger.

"You called, my Queen?" Ron asked, his eyes drooping.

"_Why did you get three weeks worth of detentions for beating up Draco Malfoy? Do you realize that this is going to affect our tutoring time? What about the Headmistress? What is she going to say when she finds out you're pulverizing another student?" Hermione asked in a rush. Ron's jaw dropped. There were so many wrong statements in that sentence that he didn't know where to begin. . . . Why in the hell was she calling Malfoy, _Draco_? Why did she call Umbridge _Headmistress_? And mostly, who the hell was she to accuse him of beating up another student? So, yeah, he did, but that was only because he was insulting Ginny! Arsehole._

Ron mindlessly searched for a coherent thought, while his brain was shouting, "YELL AT HER! SCREAM AT HER! WHO DOES SHE THINK SHE IS? SHE HAS NO RIGHT TO SAY THAT! FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT! PROTECT YOUR BLOOD AND HONOR, YOU IDIOT!" Ron closed his mouth and did exactly what his brain told him to.

"WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, MAKING COMMENTS LIKE THAT TOWARD ME? YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT WAS GOING ON! YOU WEREN'T THERE! YOU HAVE NO RIGHT AT ALL TO SAY THAT! WE ONLY HAVE TUTORING ONE BLOODY NIGHT A WEEK; I DOUBT PINCE WILL DO ANYTHING THAT NIGHT! AND WHAT GOES ON BETWEEN _MALFOY_ AND MYSELF IS NONE OF YOUR BLOODY BUSINESS. YOU AREN'T MY MUM; YOU'RE MY TUTOR, SO STAY OUT MY LIFE!"

_'Good job, Weasley. You told her off!'_

Hermione's face turned a deep shade of red very quickly. _'I spoke too soon.'_

"WHO AM I? I JUST SO HAPPEN TO BE, NOT ONLY YOUR TUTOR, BUT SINCE YOU ACT SO CHILDISH, I SUPPOSE I'M YOUR KEEPER AS WELL! YOU'RE SIXTEEN YEARS OLD, ALMOST SEVENTEEN, AND YOU STILL ACT LIKE A FOUR-YEAR-OLD! GROW UP! YES, IT DOES AFFECT _MY_ TUTORING BECAUSE NOW YOU'RE GOING TO FALL BEHIND BECAUSE YOU WON'T HAVE TIME TO DO ALL THE MAKE-UP WORK! I'M NOT JUST A TUTOR, _WEASEL_. I'M SUPPOSED TO BE TEACHING YOU RESPONSIBILITY! SO WHAT GOES ON BETWEEN YOU AND DRACO MALFOY IS MY BUSINESS, SINCE YOU ARE OBVIOUSLY SO IMMATURE THAT YOU CAN'T HANDLE IT YOURSELF!"

_'Flesh-eating, homework tyrant – one.__ Redheaded imbecile – nothing. Good going, dolt.'_

"WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE DONE IN MY POSITION? LET HIM WALK ALL OVER YOU?"

"NO! BUT I, UNLIKE YOU, MR. HOTHEAD, PICK AND CHOOSE MY BATTLES! I DON'T LASH OUT LIKE A RAGING HIPPOGRIFF WHENEVER SOMEONE INSULTS ME!"

"I'M A BULLY NOW? IS THAT IT? WELL, I REALLY _HATE_ TO BURST YOUR FAT, KNOW-IT-ALL, ABSOLUTELY _INSUFFERABLE_ BUBBLE, BUT MALFOY WAS INSULTING MY SISTER! IF YOU'RE SAYING THAT PROTECTING MY SISTER'S HONOR AND PUTTING THAT ARSE IN HIS PLACE IS A WRONG BATTLE, FINE! YELL! SCREAM! GET IT ALL OUT! I DON'T CARE! BUT IF YOU WERE IN THE SAME BLOODY POSITION AS ME, YOU WOULD HAVE DONE THE SAME!"

Whether or not Hermione Granger agreed with him, Ron never found out. His face was red with rage, and his eyes clouded. His brain couldn't register anything at the moment, and he stormed to his dorm. He beat the feathers out of his pillow, pretending it was every single one of his problems.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Thanks to my beta reader, Liberty! You rock!

I would also like to say that I'm REALLY getting into angst here. How'd you like it? I've never written angst before; I'm used to writing humor and fluff. :O)

Thanks to all my readers and especially my reviewers! Tonks!

Olivia Frost


	6. Chapter 6: A Bipolar Relationship

*~*~*~*~*

The Troll

By Angelic Ashley

Chapter 6: A Bipolar Relationship

*~*~*~*~*

Ron walked across the grounds from detention. Headmistress Hag assigned him a detention for Professor Sprout. Professor Sprout was a nice enough woman – very bubbly and a bit strict, but when you were dealing with poisonous liquids and plants that could bite your hand off, that strictness kept her students safe. They understood that.

If Ron ever had a detention with Professor Sprout, she would have had him do something simple like potting or pruning. Others who had detention with her before said her detentions weren't that bad. She would tell them her adventures with Giant Venus Man-Traps, Devil's Snare, and her expeditions in the Amazon rainforest to study rare, magical plants. On almost all of her adventures, she would run into something dangerous. Nobody ever told him what, except it sounded terrifying. Afterwards she would tell them to be careful and let them go.

But nooooo! Umbridge gave him the detention and conveniently invited Professor Sprout for tea after she showed Ron what he needed to do. Ron could tell Professor Sprout would rather brave detention with Ron than sit in Umbridge's hideous pink office for a minute.

Ron would have liked having Sprout around. This was, by far, the hardest, most disgusting, and most tedious detention of his life. He had to mix twenty bags of soil and twenty bags of dragon manure! He had to climb ladders, carry the big bags up them, and pour it into this huge tub thing. Ron didn't know, or care, how it worked. He just knew it was _slave labor_! Umbridge purposely did this to him. Toad. To make matters worse, the storage room he worked in smelled of rotting corpses; moss covered the walls; it was damp and colder than the dungeons.

When he was finally done, it was raining cats and dogs outside, and he could hardly see his hand in front of his face. He was cold, grumpy, wet, sore; it was dark, and he was_ starving_!

Ron opened the doors and entered the castle. The corridors were deserted, and it was spooky. Sure, he'd been around the castle at night before, but now the lights were on, and he was sure it wasn't _that_ late. _'This is really creepy! Where is everyone?' _

"Weasley!" shouted a shrill voice. Hermione rounded the corner and strode over to him much like his mum would. "What are you doing? You're covered in mud! Filch is going to have a fit – an absolute _fit_ – when he sees you! Why are you so wet? What did you _do_? Why didn't you wash yourself off before you came inside? Oh, if anyone sees you - ! Filch is going to give you ten detentions for this, mark my words! He's not in a good mood. I'm glad I caught you before you ran into him! You mustn't receive any more detentions! Stop walking! You're making a mess! Stop, stop, stop! Let me go get a towel. Oh, honestly, Weasley, every step you take, the more trouble you'll be in when Filch finds you! Mrs. Norris, too! I'm telling you, he's in an awful mood. Now go back outside, and I'll fetch a towel or a drying spell! I mustn't do magic in the corridors, it's forbidden! I suppose I could break the rules just this – WEASLEY! Stop for a moment, won't you? I need to dry you off! I have to clean up this mess before Filch or Mrs. Norris finds you! I don't want you getting more detentions! You'll fall behind! Haven't you been listening to me? Even if you aren't going to let me dry you off, take you're shoes off at least. They're making tracks, and you're making a mess! Stop ignoring me! WEASLEY!" Hermione cried. Ron ignored her chiding, but she wouldn't take no for an answer. She pulled at his sleeves to make him stop. It didn't work.

"Oh! Disgusting! You have mud all over your clothes! How'd you get mud all over yourself? What were you, bathing in it? What exactly did you do out there? Oh no! I've got mud all over my hands! If Filch catches you, he'll blame both of us! Now quit being silly and let me dry you off! WEASLEY! STOP WALKING! _You're making a MESS!_ Look at what you're doing! Just loo–"

"SHUT UP! SHUT UP ALREADY! Haven't you figured it out yet? I DON'T CARE! I'm cold, tired, hungry, and wet, and I just want to lie down and get some food. I don't care at all already, and you're not making it any better! So just, shut up! Bloody hell, Hermione, Filch doesn't need another stinking cat! SO LEAVE ME ALONE!" Ron roared. He stalked off and rounded a corner leading up to the Great Hall. How dare she? She's the one who wanted to keep their "relationship" professional, yet here she was chiding at him like his bloody mum! Why'd she care anyway? Nobody liked Filch, and she made it damn clear she didn't like him either. She was just being pushy. She had to be in control, and keeping him on a damn leash was the way to go about it. Like hell he'd be bossed around by Hermione Granger! Damn woman.

"Well, well, well. What's this? A student, my sweet. Weasley, what are you doing wandering about the halls? Think it's pretty funny, do you?"

"No, sir, I just came in from a detention."

"Liar! It's raining out, and I know when a student's been outside. You're not wet, and there are no tracks. What are you up to, boy?"

It took Ron a moment to comprehend what Filch just said. Not wet? No tracks? What? Ron looked down at his shoes and clothes. Though they were dirty, they weren't wet. There were no water tracks behind him either! What was going on? No! No, it couldn't be! Hermione? 

"I performed a drying spell, sir."

"Ah-ha! Magic in the corridors, I see. Come with me, Weasley."

"Why? It was either magic or more mopping for you. May I go now?" Ron was _really _sick of people getting on his back. Filch seemed to be baffled. No student ever asked him to leave before. He would have enjoyed Ron's pain, but he just grunted. Ron had a point.

Ron left still thinking about Hermione. He looked back for her, but she wasn't there. Hermione did something _nice_ for _him_? No, it had to have been something else. He didn't ponder the thought any longer, because as soon as his body hit the bed, Ron was in a deep sleep and dreams about Hermione as a cat and him as a dog.

* * *

After a rough Transfiguration class and a quiet lunch, Ron headed to Potions. He was still sore from detention the night before, and he felt it with every word he wrote and every step he took. He even felt it when he talked and chewed. So here he was, hungry from the little he ate, tired from the grueling labor, and sore to the bone. Harry didn't bother him too much about it, and Ron was thankful for that.

Ron and Harry walked past Malfoy and his band of flobberworms. They were cackling at some joke. Ron didn't even want to know about it. Right outside the classroom door, Blaise was showing off a glittering pair of diamond earrings to Millicent and Pansy. She said something about a seventh year boyfriend. Unless her father was her boyfriend (which he probably was), Ron doubted a girl like her could get a boyfriend. She had too high of standards and loved to play around, just like any other Slytherin. Ron noticed Hermione pushed past him, carrying a ridiculous amount of books. She stopped a few meters away from where the Slytherin girls stood whispering to each other. Ron counted this as a blessing; Blaise had such a loud mouth when it came to bragging that a whisper was about as rare as Crabbe and Goyle saying something intelligent. Ron looked back to Hermione; she was watching the snobs gossiping and giggling. Ron passed by her, and he caught his breath. Hermione looked as if she'd been up all night crying. Ron and Harry put their things down on their desks. Ron excused himself to go outside. He made up a lie about the Potions room smelling like dung and needing some air. Harry didn't mind, and Ron didn't care about his white lie; he wanted to watch what was going on. He slunk out of the door unnoticed as Blaise called to Hermione, who was now staring down at her books, still looking as though she would cry.

"Granger! Do you like my new earrings? My _boyfriend_ bought them for me. What has your boyfriend bought for you lately?" Blaise asked with innocent, yet sadistic manipulation. "Oh, I forgot! You don't even have a friend, let alone a boyfriend! It's too bad. Behind that dumpy face and fat tub of lard, there is some potential to be tragic looking. Just think of it this way, you would no longer be inhumanly ugly."

Ron decided then and there the snake wasn't the appropriate icon for Slytherin. They all traveled around in groups and cackled like hyenas before they went for the kill. Hermione didn't acknowledge their comments; she kept her eyes on her things. Ron wondered why she hadn't gone into class yet. Why did she subject herself to this ridicule? The Hermione he knew was so much stronger than that! She might have let people insult her, but she didn't sit there and welcome them. _'Yes, but this isn't the Hermione you know, is it? Stop making assumptions about people. This is a different life with different people. They are all different.'_

Except Malfoy wasn't different. The teachers weren't different. Harry wasn't _much _different. He wasn't much different. Yet, Hermione, a strong and confident person, was very different. She was a pessimist and a tyrant. She was like Percy, rule-abiding, ambitious, bossy, hardworking, an isolationist, and pompous. The only difference was Hermione didn't have any fun and was taking the Perfect Percy personality to an extreme.

Ron was about to yell at the brainless twits to stuff it when Hermione straightened herself up and walked confidently past them. He figured out why Hermione avoided the Potions classroom like the plague now. As she passed them, they rounded on her and pushed her to the ground. Ron heard boys were more physically bullying, but the way they clawed and marred at her and the way they kicked and harassed her was terrible. They made sure not to leave a scratch, not evidence to say they hurt her or the words they said. Ron couldn't help but think this was much worse than a punch in the face and hurt pride. No, this was abuse.

Ron was frozen in shock. This was sick. It was sick the way they attacked Hermione. They didn't just use their hands, but their words. They whispered insults about how she was worthless, ugly, and friendless. They told her how she would amount to nothing. They told her how her brain was worthless. They said things about You-Know-Who and how she was a Mudblood. They said her family would die, she would die, and nobody would ever miss her. Ron couldn't move; it was so horrifying. Was this why Hermione never talked to anyone? Because they would beat her up? An image came to his mind of ten girls pouncing on Hermione like a sphinx when she was sitting and reading to herself. Then the Dark Lord came in and performed the Cruciatus Curse on her, laughing like a madman.

Everyone was in class now, except for him and Hermione, and nobody even saw it. Ron couldn't believe he didn't help her! DAMN IT! Why'd he let this happen? He walked over to Hermione and helped gathering up stray papers and some smaller books. She looked like a small kitten, and her eyes were tearful. Her arms and legs were shaking, and her body was tense, yet limp. She looked so frightened and tired. Her face wasn't as fresh as it was yesterday after detention. She looked older, ill, and – dying. Ron regretted everything he ever said mean towards her. He didn't realize how terrible this all was.

However, as soon as he saw the tears in her eyes, it was overpowered by defiance and anger. Ron was caught between pity and fear. The door closed behind them.

"I didn't ask for your help, Weasley. How many times do I have to tell you? Unless I ask you, don't tease me like this! I don't need help from you or anyone else; I can take care of myself! NOW LEAVE ME ALONE!"

Ron's eyes bugged out. Here he was helping her, and she couldn't help but yell and snap at him. He continued helping her. It didn't matter what she said to him. She was angry with Blaise, Millicent, and Pansy.

"Didn't you hear me, Weasel? I said I don't need your help, so sod off!" Ron ignored her again. "I SAID _SOD OFF_!" she screamed shrilly, her body shaking with anger and fear. Ron stood up and held his hand for Hermione's. She sneered at his offer and set her things down. She tried to stand up, but her wobbly legs wouldn't allow it. She tripped but caught herself before Ron could do anything. She glared up at him and picked up her books.

"You know, you really are daft. I said to leave my things and me alone. I told you to go away, I told you I don't need help, and I meant it! Why can't you just leave me be? You never cared before. You never tried to help me before, so why now? What, sorry for yelling at me? For teasing me and making me feel like a fool? Trying to rectify your own petty existence or inflate your ego? What is it? If you're looking to make a joke, it won't work. If you're trying to be all loyal, noble, and virtuous or get into my good graces, I hate to burst your bubble, but it won't work. In case you've forgotten, I don't like you! In fact, I hate you! I hate the way you've insulted me and hurt me these past years. I hate how you and Potter prance about the school with the "good boy" label when you're nothing but bullies. I – hate – you! I don't need your hypocritical pity or righteousness. I don't need any more jokes and jaunts behind my back, and I don't need help from a pompous, selfish, rude, hypocritical prat like you! What I do need is for you to bugger off!"

Ron was flabbergasted. She had such a low opinion of them? She thought this was all a game and fun for him? Or a petty way for righting his wrongs to make himself feel better? Who did she think he was? Malfoy? He should have been understanding. He should have quietly told her he had good intentions and what the Slytherin hyenas did was awful. He should have apologized for all the things he ever did. He should have been understanding and asked to start over. He should have done the nice, sensitive thing. He should have listened to himself.

"I'm just trying to help you! Normal people say thank you when someone helps them! You may not like me, but who are you to call me a prat? You don't even know who I am! I could be the most sensitive bloke in all of England, and you'd never know it because you never leave the damn library. It's not my fault if you're too weak to stand up to the Slytherin girls on your own or too stubborn to except help," he said nastily with narrowed eyes.

"I know you perfectly well enough to know you aren't a Saint. I thank people for their help but not when they're doing it for spite. I don't bother myself with people like you. Too caught up in yourself to notice the world around you. I can stand up for myself! I'm just above lowering myself to their level!" she replied defensively. Her eyes fired up more; her stance changed from tiny kitten to saber tooth tiger. 

"You do that a lot, don't you? You're the one who can't trust a single soul, and you look down upon everyone because of it. I don't order people around and see everyone as below me! You think you're better than everyone else because you're smart; well, you're wrong. You need to deflate your big head!" Ron spat angrily. His face scrunched itself up in disgust.

"BIG HEAD? I never heard anything so ludicrous in my whole life!" Hermione exclaimed incredulously.

"Then you don't get around much! You're constantly blaming other people because of your faults!" Ron accused, pointing a finger at her.

Hermione snorted and pushed his finger away. "I do not!"

"Yes, you do! You have no trust in people at all! You think they're all out to get you! It's sad the way you've become so paranoid and heartless. You make it sound like I'm the bloody reason you're a loner! Let me tell you something! It's not my fault if you're too conceited and high-strung to ever have friends!" Ron's face was steadily reddening with anger. His pulse raced, and he no longer had control over his thoughts.

"I never did anything to lose their trust and friendship! I never hurt you in any way! You're the one who found me threatening and bossy! You're the one who thought I was practically diseased! You're the one who instigated it all!" It was Hermione's turn to accuse him. Ron's ears rang. SHE DIDN'T GET IT! He didn't do anything! Why was she accusing him!?

"I never did anything! I never told you to let people push you around! I never did anything so manipulating in all my life! I'm not a bully, and I'm not pompous, selfish, rude, or hypocritical. When you said those things, you were thinking of yourself. You're the one who bosses people around! You're the one who's completely insufferable! You're the one who hurt yourself!" Ron countered, his voice was growing in volume now.

"I never hurt myself! I'm the one who was being me! You don't like the fact I'm better than you!" She pointed her finger at him, looking victorious. She hit a hard spot. Ron clenched his fists and gritted his teeth. It was time for the kill.

"There you go again! You're making me out to be the bully when it's obvious your _arrogance_ is why nobody likes you! If I'm so pompous and selfish, why do I have friends?" It was Ron's turn to look victorious. He knew he hit a hard spot. But her face calmed, though every bit of anger in her face went to her eyes. For a moment, Ron almost feared her.

"Bad judge of character. I'm observant, Weasley, and I know more about you than you know yourself. I know you're stubborn, jealous, hotheaded, bullying, and one day it'll lead you right into death's arms," she said in an icy calm. Her eyes said everything Ron ever wanted to know. She hated him. Hated him more than Malfoy. She wanted to kill him. Rip him up into pieces. She hated him with such a passion it couldn't be described. "You're so easily influenced by the promise of power and money I wouldn't be surprised if I was walking in the shadow of a future Death Eater."

"YOU AREN'T AS SMART AS YOU THINK, GRANGER! YOU KNOW _NOTHING ABOUT ME, AND YOU HAVE NO PLACE TO JUDGE WHO I AM, SO SHUT UP!" The Death Eater hit him. Hard. He never expected her hatred to go to accusing him of something worse than death itself. It was low; it was sick. It was worse than dignified Hermione could ever go. This Hermione was evil._

"IN CASE _YOU'VE _FAILED TO NOTICE, _WEASLEY,_ YOU MAY NOT HAVE ENCOURAGED OTHERS TO DEFAME MY CHARACTER AND PUSH ME AROUND, BUT YOU CERTAINLY WERE PART OF IT! YOU'RE THE ONE WHO PUSHED ME AROUND AND GOT EVERYONE AGAINST ME!"

"_SILENCE_!"

Ron and Hermione looked at the door leading to the Potions room. Snape stood there, looking menacing. He was absolutely livid.

"What is going on here? WEASLEY! GRANGER? What's the meaning of this? You two don't show up to class and then interrupt it by screaming at each other! Twenty points from Gryffindor a piece and three detentions! Weasley! This is the second time in two weeks I've had to talk with you. Granger, I expected more. Both of you in class right now. You'll be rest assured I'll be owling your parents about this. NOW INSIDE, BEFORE I TAKE MORE!" roared Snape, and they scurried past him into class. Damn git. His parents wouldn't be happy to hear he was acting up. Ron's head was pounding from yelling as all the blood drained out of his head.

Ron sat down and massaged his temples. Harry stared at him as Snape continued with his lecture. Ron was sure Snape's eyes were on him; he could just feel the glare. Harry didn't bother to ask him what happened out in the corridor because whispering in Snape's class – this particular class, especially – was death. When it was time to start their potions, he and Harry stood up to gather their supplies. The whole class was buzzing with questions about their fight. He couldn't count how many times they asked him. He ignored them and concentrated on his potion. Snape barked at them to start on their potions, fully aware of the attention Ron was receiving. Harry didn't bother to ask him about it until the rest of the class was absorbed in their own stations. 

Ron had never been so angry in his life. He chopped madly at the Siphler roots, mumbling about Hermione. Everything about life angered him right now. Hermione. Snape. Umbridge. Ginny. Grades. Quidditch. His parents. The War. The confusion. 

How could Hermione think that about him? How could she think him a future Death Eater? HOW? She was just insane. Ron didn't feel sorry for her anymore. She deserved it. She deserved her loneliness. She deserved her distrust. She deserved her arrogance. She deserved the words of the Slytherin girls. She deserved the words behind her back. She deserved her shameful face. She deserved her stubborn pride. She deserved every hurtful thing anyone ever said about her.

Why?

She did it back. She treated people like scum. She thought so highly of herself; her tyranny and arrogance only caused her paranoia and distrust of the world. She was a bully. And bullies deserved a taste of their own medicine. She had a cold heart. She wanted that heart, and he wouldn't take it away from her.

Harry stopped his chopping. 

"I think we've got enough, mate. Besides, I don't think this potion calls for a human thumb. What happened out there?"

Ron sighed and set down the knife. He looked at the instructions and added the root to the concoction. "The Slytherin girls were giving her a hard time. They pushed her to the floor, and all of her things scattered around. I tried to help her pick them up, but she didn't want my help. We got into a row from there."

"I don't know why you bother with her. No matter what, she hates us. She hates practically everyone. She doesn't want anybody's help with anything."

"Yeah, she made that crystal clear," Ron spat, throwing in the beetle eyes.

"What'd she say?"

"She told me to sod off. Several times, actually."

"That's Granger for you. She doesn't want help, so in return we don't want to help. Most people try to avoid being burnt to a crisp. So what'd Snape do? We heard some of it but not all."

"Lovely," Ron muttered sarcastically. The whole damn class had to hear Snape give him a verbal lashing. Malfoy and those other idiots would never let him live it down. "Detentions, point loss, and an owl home. Normal Snape."

"Damn. An owl home? It's your funeral."

"If the Howler doesn't kill me, my Mum will with her bare hands."

* * *

Later that night, after classes, Ron headed to McGonagall's room to serve the detention for punching Malfoy in Snape's class. He was prepared to grade little first years' tests. How anyone would _want_ to be a teacher, he would never understand.

He knocked on McGonagall's door, and she beckoned him in. Ron walked in, and she was grading papers. Ugh.

"Sit," she said curtly and pointed to a chair in the front of the room with a quill and large stack of papers ready. He sat and did them as quickly as he could.

It was nine o'clock before he finished. Ron wanted to get out of there as fast as he could, but before he could reach the door, McGonagall told him to sit back in his seat. He would have to grade more papers. However, when Ron turned around, McGonagall was standing in front of her desk, looking over her glasses at him. From the looks of it, she was done with her grading. Why was she still keeping him here? She cleared her throat to remind him of her orders. Ron did as he was told.

"Mr. Weasley, I wanted to talk with you. I heard about your argument with Ms. Granger this morning. I've talked with Ms. Granger, and she told me what happened. Now I'd like to hear your side."

Ron wondered why she cared so much. She usually didn't involve herself with the problems of her students. Why now? Ron told her everything except the Death Eater comment. McGonagall's face didn't change at all. They sat in silence for a while before McGonagall set down her spectacles and rubbed her eyes.

"Mr. Weasley, why are you doing this?" McGonagall asked, putting her glasses back on. Ron was taken aback. What?

"Doing what, Professor?"

"Why are you keeping up this rivalry with Ms. Granger? Weasley, do you remember what I said to you about two weeks ago after you said Mr. Potter was ill?"

What the . . .? "No, Professor."

"I said I hoped you and Ms. Granger would put aside your differences and end this rivalry. Do you know why I said this, Weasley?"

Uh . . . . "No."

"No? Well, I'll clue you in. You and Ms. Granger are in the same House, the same year, almost all the same classes, and have been for six years. You are both sixteen now, almost seventeen and of legal age. Let me make it simple for you, Weasley. You are old enough to grow up a little and accept the fact Ms. Granger is your housemate. You must accept she is your peer and always will be. You must stop this rivalry and give this entire school some rest from it. I do believe we have enough fighting going on in this country, and your bickering isn't at all helping! Mature a bit, Weasley. You're old enough to ignore dislike toward someone and deal with it. That's part of life. You're excused."

"Professor McGonagall, I've tried to get along with her! I've tried to make things right since this stupid tutoring started up! I've tried! It's not my fault if she's so bossy tha-"

"You can't do anything to change the way she feels about you if you've already tried. What I'm saying is _not_ to start fights with her no matter what _she_ does! I had this conversation with her, and I said the same thing. You don't have to like each other; you don't have to want to work with the other; you can hate each other for all I care, but you need to be mature and not rise up! I'm not saying either of you are _immature,_ but when it comes to each other, you can act like spoiled children! Now, please try to get along."

"I told you, I _am_ trying! She's not!"

"How do you know she's not trying?"

"I told her-"

"That was rhetorical, Weasley. Let me make this simple for you. Do you want to be back on the team? Yes? Then try to come to an understanding, but if that doesn't work, do what she says. She's in charge. She's tutoring you, and she's the only way you'll get your position back. That's the way it is. You are excused."

"But Profe-"

"Goodnight, Mr. Weasley!"

Ron huffed out of McGonagall's classroom and walked back to the common room. He was dog-tired. Try to get along with Hermione? McGonagall might as well tell him to dress up in a tutu, skip about the school, turn people to toads, and sell them on the black market to Mad-Eye Moody for a Knut a head. The latter would happen first before he had any chance of coming to an agreement with the Homework Obsessed, Flesh-Eating, Barking Mad, Should Be in the Psycho Ward at St. Mungo's Nazi from Hell. For whom he still had to do a damn essay before tomorrow night.

"Weasley, can I talk to you?" asked a voice behind him. Ron turned to find the Nazi herself; though by her voice and body language, she wasn't very Nazi-ish at the moment. She was carrying a bundle of papers.

"What do you want?" Ron snapped. He didn't care if she was trying to be somewhat civil; he was still angry with her and the whole damn situation.

"I – er – wanted to – uh – I wanted to – I wanted to –," she started nervously but resigned whatever she wanted to say and poised herself in more businesslike manner. "I wanted to know how those essays are going. I turned in the first batch, and I've graded the tests. I just wanted to give you an update. How are the ones for this week going?"

"Good," he replied warily. For a moment, he thought she would actually talk about something _other_ than work for a change. At first, she seemed nervous and _human_.

"Oh, well, I just wanted to check up on you. I'll see you tomorrow night."

"All right then."

"Is there some reason why you're being so short toward me?"  
"Is there some reason why you care?"

"Yes, actually, I'd like to know how you and the other children I'm tutoring are doing. God forbid I actually do my job of making them more _responsible_."

"I don't need you to make me more responsible. If responsible is getting yelled at and ordered around all the time, then I'm plenty responsible."

"No need to be rude. I'm just trying to help!"

"You're allowed to help me, but I'm not allowed to help you?"

"This morning was completely different, and you know it!"

"How so? You _fell_, and I helped you get your things. Helping is helping, Hermione."

Hermione seemed taken aback. Whatever it was, she shook it off. "It's not your job to help me, Weasley! It is, however, my job to help you and make you a better person!"

"So I'm a horrible person now? I'm the one who helped you when I didn't have to! It wasn't my _job_ to help you, but I did it anyway. Are you saying you have to be a professional helper to pick up a few books for someone?"

"I didn't want your help; there's a difference! Besides, I'm not saying you're a horrible person; I'm saying you're irresponsible!"

"Fine, I'm an irresponsible prat who likes to help people? That's nice. Well, this irresponsible prat is doing the _responsible _thing and leaving. Look, I'm getting more responsible already," Ron said sarcastically and turned to leave.

"Idiot," she muttered silently behind him. Ron narrowed his eyes and kept walking.

* * *

The next day, or rather night, Ron headed to the library for his weekly tutoring session with Hermione. To put it lightly, he wasn't particularly looking forward to it. He barely had any sleep the past few days because of homework, and his fatigue carried over each day. He was so tired he felt like he would drop any moment. Madam Pince scowled at him as he passed her. Apparently, she still wasn't used to seeing him in the library. He sat down at his usual chair, but Hermione wasn't sitting across from him. She was probably getting a book. Ron took advantage of her absence and laid his head down. He could rest for just a moment. . . .

"Weasley, wake up," someone whispered to him softly. "Weasley, go back up to the tower. You're exhausted."

Ron sat up slowly and opened his eyes. He felt someone's hands on his shoulder, shaking him awake. Ron opened his eyes more and rubbed the sleep away. He looked up at Hermione; his vision was fuzzy. For a moment, Ron was sure her face was softer than usual, almost _adoring_. However, when his eyes focused and he could see properly, she looked just as poised as ever. It must have been his eyes.

"What are you doing?" she asked exasperatedly.

"I'm running around in pink knickers, waving the British flag. What does it look like I'm doing? I'm waiting for you," Ron snapped and put his head back on the desk.

"Weasley, go back up to the tower. The library is not your dorm."

"What about the session?" he asked with his head still on the table.

"I canceled it. Besides, you won't be able to work when you're this tired. Now go upstairs and get some sleep."

"No postponing? Just _canceling_?"

"Yes," she replied simply. "Now, go."

Ron obeyed her command without any more talk. He was tired, and he really didn't want to stay down here. So he shrugged and headed out of the library, reminding himself of his bed. Before he could leave, though, Madam Pince stopped him. 

"Mr. Weasley, I'd just like to remind you of your detention with me tomorrow night at seven o'clock."

Ron nodded and left. He walked back up to his dorm and fell asleep. He was too tired to wonder why Hermione canceled their tutoring session, because there was more to it than just his fatigue.

* * *

The next morning, or rather afternoon, Ron awoke from an overwhelming heat. He flung off his covers and opened his curtains. Afternoon sun filled the whole room, and the clock next to Harry's bed said: 12:07. The door behind him opened, and Harry came in.

"You're awake. Good. I bet you're hungry. Lunch starts in thirty minutes, and I wanted to wake you up before you missed it. You sleep like a bloody log. Get dressed, and maybe you'll have enough time to kick my arse at chess."

Ron pulled some clothes out of his trunk and made his way for the shower. When he finished, he found Harry downstairs setting up the chess pieces. He seemed surprised that Ron got ready as quickly as he did, and Ron took his seat across from Harry. He took out the pawns, and they played a quick game. Ron kicked Harry's arse, just as Harry predicted, and Ron gloated his ten millionth victory as they walked to the Great Hall. 

Ron ate more than should be allowed, and some surrounding students watched him warily, covering their plates. They spent almost the remainder of the day playing chess, talking, walking around the grounds, and a visit to Hagrid.

Ron knocked on the door to Hagrid's hut. They heard a "Comin'!" and the door opened. Even with Umbridge there, Hagrid was still the Gamekeeper and Care of Magical Creatures Professor. Ron wasn't sure how that was managed, but it was, and he didn't have a problem with it at all. It was one of the few things similar about the two lives. 

"Oh hello, Harry. Ron. Come in, come in. It's been a while since yeh've come ter visit. Would yeh like a cuppa or a rock cake?"

Ron and Harry looked at each other and back at Hagrid. "Tea would be nice, Hagrid. Hiya, Fang," said Harry, looking down at Hagrid's enormous dog. Fang was staring up at him with eyes that said, "Pet me!" Ron fake smiled at the dog and moved away from him slowly. 

"I heard yeh were kicked off the team, Ron. Somethin' about grades. Wha' happened?"

"I got in a fight with Malfoy, and Umbridge decided to kick me off the team. Said I was insane, dangerous, and I didn't have good enough marks."

"If that isn' the bigges' load of tosh! Dangerous? Not likely. Not Ron Weasley. Yeh try talkin' ter her?"

"Tried, but she didn't give a damn. Now I have tutoring sessions once a week with Her- Granger. She's a right wench about it too! Always bossing me around, acting as if she's the Queen."

"Yeh don' give her a hard time, do yeh?" Hagrid asked from pouring the tea.

"Of course I do! I won't let her boss me around and get away with how she acts. She's a tyrant, Hagrid!" exclaimed Ron. Hagrid handed Harry and Ron their cups.

"I don' expect yeh ter listen ter everything she says, but she's the boss."

"Yeah, McGonagall said that too."

"Don' make it ter hard for her. I feel sorry for her, meself. I've never felt sorrier for anyone in my life."

Ron and Harry's jaws dropped to the floor, and their eyes bugged out. They were in complete shock. Hagrid felt sorry for _Hermione_! Harry was the first to come out of his stupor.

"_Why_?"

"Well, I've seen her around the castle, yeh know, an' she's always quiet. Never talkin' ter anyone. She's always in the library. I feel bad for her. I've seen her walk around the grounds alone. She always looked like she was gonna cry. She's pretty lonely. Smartest witch I've ever known, but no one ter talk with. She's a stron' girl, yeh know, but when someone's lonely, they do mad things. Someone brilliant will too. Look at Dumbledore! I know a sad person when I see one. She's the saddest I've ever seen. Someone as brilliant and depressed as Hermione isn' what they seem on the outside. She migh' surprise yeh one day. No one, not even bleedin' Malfoy, deserves bein' tha' lonely. Don' give her a hard time, Ron. She looks strong and bossy, but she's fragile."

Ron didn't know what to think. The events of two days prior came back to him – before their argument. The way the Slytherin girls attacked her. The way he felt before she got angry with him. He did feel bad for her. He thought it was sick. It _was_ sick. It didn't matter how Hermione treated him. Hagrid was right. Nobody deserved to be treated like that. Even if she wasn't the nicest person around, how did giving her a taste of her own medicine help? She knew what it was like to be treated horribly. She knew that! Why did she return the feelings? It didn't make sense. If she was so sad and lonely, why didn't she try to make friends?

Ron remembered the look in her eyes after the Slytherins beat her up. She looked like she was going to cry, but then she got defensive. Why would she get defensive if he was trying to help her? Hagrid was right. She was brilliant. She was the smartest witch in a century. Hagrid was wrong though. Hermione was smart enough to not do anything stupid. She might be sad, but what was he supposed to do about it? She hated him.

_"Don' give her a hard time, Ron."_

Hagrid was right though. If he couldn't help her, he wouldn't hurt her either.

"I'm going up to the tower. I don't feel well," Ron said, suddenly feeling nauseous. "Thanks for the tea, Hagrid. I'll see you later, then?"

"You all right, Ron?" Harry asked. Ron nodded, stood up, and headed for the door. Harry was fixing himself more tea while Fang begged Harry to pet him.

Before Ron closed the door, he heard Hagrid mumble something to himself.

"She'll go to You-Know-Who's side for friends. Without her, we'll lose."

* * *

Ron headed to the library for detention. It'd been a few hours since his visit with Hagrid, and what he said still plagued his thoughts. 

Hermione? A Death Eater? No, no she'd never become a Death Eater! She was too loyal to Dumbledore. But Hermione was lonely. Ron remembered what it was like being depressed. He remembered when his dad was in the hospital the year before. He remembered thinking he would do anything for his dad to be okay. If You-Know-Who bargained his loyalty to Dumbledore in exchange for his dad's health, his dad would have told him not to be so daft. Hermione wasn't daft. She was the smartest witch of the century, damn it! But he would have done _anything_ for his dad. _Anything_.

Would Hermione do anything for friends?

_'From the sounds of it, Weasley, she's been lonely for a long time.'_

Still, she wouldn't do it! She wouldn't! There was a difference! She was too loyal to Dumbledore! She was smart enough to know You-Know-Who never kept his promises! She knew she'd be working for evil! She'd rather die first!

_'She's in a righ' state, that's what. She's bin comin' down ter visit me a lot since Chris'mas. Bin feelin' lonely. . . . She's cried a fair few times, yeh know.'_

Third year.

Third year when he and Hermione were barely talking. That was only for a few months! A FEW MONTHS! It'd been a few years since whatever happened between them. If she was that bad only after a little while, what was she like now after years?

_'She could be suicidal.'_

_ That's not Hermione! That's not Hermione at all! She's not SUICIDAL!_

_'You keep forgetting, Ron. She's not Hermione. The Hermione in the other life might not be suicidal, but this one could be. You never know. They're different. Harry's different. Ginny's different. McGonagall, Pomfrey, Pince, Dumbledore, Sirius, You-Know-Who! They're all different because of her! Even you are! This Hermione is very different than the Hermione you know, so you can't think they're the same.'_

Ron told himself to shut up.

"Mr. Weasley, come with me," said Madam Pince. Ron followed her into a very old, very unused part of the library. He found Hermione already there, going through a very large pile of books. In fact, the whole shelf was empty and the next three rows over as well. What the hell?

"How are you doing, Ms. Granger? Faring all right?"

Hermione looked up from the large pile of books and nodded. "Yes, Madam Pince."

"Good, good. I've recruited someone to help you! Mr. Weasley, you are to help Ms. Granger arrange all these books by author then write a list of all the books here."

"_All of these_?" Ron asked disbelievingly. There were probably over one thousand books there!

"Only three quarters more. Ms. Granger has already done one quarter, right?" Hermione nodded and continued with her organizing.

"What is all of this?" Ron asked picking up a book. There were no markings on the outside, but the title said: _Serenading_. He picked up a few more. _The Robin's Chest_, _The Witch Hunt, _Thirteen Ghosts_, and _The Arrow of Chiron_. _

"They're books, Weasley," said Hermione sarcastically.

"Obviously, but what are you doing? What are these?"  
"I'm organizing these shelves. The previous librarians never kept up this part of the library. They're all the fictional books."

"Like _The Burning of My Heart_? Why would you want to read trashy romance? My mum reads it, and Dad says it's a load of hogwash."

"The book I was reading so happened to be a mystery novel, not a romance one. I can't stand that kind of romance."

"It sounds like a romance novel to me," said Ron with a sly grin.

"If you must know, it was about this Muggle town in Spain. The residents were being attacked by some magical force, and the magical ministry found out. It's about some ancient curse and magical rituals the residents were performing."

"I thought you said they were Muggles," Ron said, going through a stack of unsorted books. "What exactly do I have to do?"

"For now, just put them in piles by the author's last name; we'll get more specific later. Anyway, they are Muggles, but their ancestors were all magical. The townspeople were actually part magical people, all drawn together because of their magical blood."

"Sounds interesting, where's the conflict?"

"The people are sick, I told you."

"Why?"

"This vengeful pureblood put a curse on the town. He extracted the magical blood in them to build up his own power."

"Can that happen?" Ron asked, intrigued. It sounded familiar and really creepy.

"It already has. The Blood Wars of America in 1692. Why else do you think the Americans hanged people? Salem was built on an old Indian cremation site, and the spirits attacked people and took out their magical blood. The witches and wizards who weren't attacked discovered what was going on and stopped the spirits, but too many died before they finally could. Salem has a high concentration of magical energy."

"Cool. Where'd you learn that?" Ron asked as he finished with his first pile.

"It's called reading, Weasley," said Hermione with a smile. "Take the pile behind you." She pointed to the stack down the aisle a bit, and Ron started on it.

"You know, if Binns told me that, I wouldn't have cared," Ron said. He changed his voice to a boring monotone to impersonate their ghost professor. "'The castle is falling apart, I'm getting my nose removed, and I've decided to marry a flobberworm.' I'd be sleeping through it all." Hermione giggled.

"You do like to sleep, don't you? Yesterday, I could hear your snores all the way across the library!" Hermione laughed, sorting another book. 

"I do not snore!" Ron huffed with mock-hurt.

"Then what were you doing impersonating a pig?"

"I often pretend to be animals in my sleep. You name it - sheep, dogs, bears, cats, hippogriffs, and mice. When I pretend to be a mouse, my nose twitches and everything," said Ron, making his nose twitch. Hermione snorted and laughed into her hands to block the noise.

"See! I'm not the only one who impersonates a pig!" Ron accused, and Hermione laughed even harder. So hard she started coughing, and tears came to her eyes. She turned away from Ron, straightened up, and continued her work.

"I don't think we should be talking. You're in detention for a reason," she said strictly, her voice cracking a little.

"Oh, right," replied Ron disappointedly and worked in silence. Every so often, there was a cough here, a creak in the floor there, but not a word was spoken between them for quite some time.

Ron thought about it. His jokes weren't really funny, but Hermione laughed at them as if she never laughed in her life. He saw something, a part of her he knew. He saw the _real_ Hermione. His best friend. Why did she go back to her old self? She said it was because they needed to work and he was in detention, but they were working, and maybe Madam Pince thought it would be a good opportunity for her to socialize. No, she didn't want to talk to him.

She was really easy to talk to, which was strange. Here was a girl he was supposed to hate, but he just couldn't. He couldn't hate her. He couldn't hate his best friend. Sure, if she were any girl besides Hermione, it would be simple. But she was Hermione, and he couldn't hate Hermione. He could be angry with her, he could dislike her, but he couldn't hate her. He couldn't let things like what the Slytherin girls did happen again. He couldn't hate her because she never did anything to him. She may have yelled at him, she may have bossed him around, she may have been the most awful person in the world, but he could forgive her. He didn't know why, but he could. Perhaps it was because he saw how she was treated.

Sure, he didn't hate her, and he would be careful about what he said, but that didn't mean he would let her walk all over him either. Despite the way she was treated, her attitude asked them to do it. So the obvious solution was to break her. Break down her super-ego to a normal human level. And if he had to fight with her to do it, he would.

"Wea- Ron? Can I talk to you, just for a moment?" she asked timidly. She called him "Ron!" It must be one of her, what he saw as, few _sensitive human_ moments. 

"Sure."

"Well – um – well – I – uh – er – just – uh – wanted – I just wanted to – er – say – um – you were – uh – right. About your sister. You should have stood up to Malfoy for her. I'm – uh – sorry I – got angry with you about it. I – uh – was too quick to assume it was – er – over – uh – something stupid. Will you – er – forgive me?" she mumbled quietly. Despite her nervousness, Ron understood everything she said.

"Only if you promise to stop making assumptions so quickly," Ron replied, looking over at her. She looked back over at him and pulled some hair out of her face.

"Deal," she said happily.

Ron decided right then and there, fighting with Hermione wasn't going to help; he already tried. However, he would try a new direction. Hermione warmed up to him, even though she hated him, when they talked about something she knew, and he encouraged her to talk by being interested. He made her smile, and he made her happy. The solution to their arguments was simple.

Instead of breaking the ice, he would melt it.

*~*~*~*~*

Take the last line, change "ice" for "witch", then take "it" and change it to "her". It's funny!

Instead of breaking the **witch**, he would melt **her**.

_"I'm melting! I'm melting!" – WWW, Wizard of Oz_

Now that's over with, I'll make this simple.

First, thanks to my beta, my readers, and my reviewers!

Second, the dreaded PLOT is thickening, yet unraveling at the same time!

Third, this is just the beginning. MWAHAHAHAHAHA!

Be afraid, be very afraid.

Angelic Ashley 


	7. Chapter 7: The Echo of a Scream

*~*~*~*~*

The Troll

By Olivia Frost

Chapter 7: The Echo of a Scream

*~*~*~*~*

Ron walked down the corridor toward the Gryffindor common room to put away his books. He was excited for the Halloween Feast that night. Hermione's damn essays took up so much of his time he hardly found time to sneak into the kitchens for some sweets. Harry was complaining Ron never had time for him because he was always in the library. Ron couldn't disagree. It was so much for him to take on, but he was determined to get his spot back on the team. He figured out long ago he was in a different reality, but it was reality. He couldn't goof off, because there still were consequences of his actions, and what if he never got back home? Despite Hermione's idea that he was a procrastinating, lazy arse, he did think about what things meant, and if he never got back to the other world, at least this life would be somewhat similar to what he grew up with.

There were some things he just couldn't ignore, but he didn't want to think about them. He wanted to think about all the cakes, sweets, and puddings waiting for him in the Great Hall.

As well as a pretty brunette with a bad temper and reading fetish, who was just begging for a little loosening up.

Ron entered the Great Hall, and it looked just like it had every year he actually went. Lit, floating jack-o-lanterns, eager faces, empty plates, and serving trays begging to be filled with food that would give the eater a stomachache for a week was a sight for book-ridden eyes. Harry waved him over, and as Ron sat down, the plates filled with food fit for any sweet tooth. Ron didn't bother talking to Harry and dove in along with the rest of the Gryffindor boys. Lavender and Parvati were giggling about how all this food would make them fat. Ron was disgusted at how they just picked at their food.

Harry started talking about everything going on lately. Occlumency, missing Quidditch, lessons, jokes, even if Parvati and Lavender were right about all the food being too fattening, before diving into the food again. Ron had to admit his scrawny best friend needed some muscle, but Ron wasn't one to talk. He was just as thin as Harry, only taller.

When Ron and Harry's stomachs decided they couldn't eat another bite, they looked across from them, where Seamus and Neville were sitting. Dean was beside Seamus, creating a picture on his plate out of candy corns. He also noticed Seamus and Neville were building something out of extra food. They were extremely ugly, disfigured candy beasts.

"Seamus, what are you doing?" Ron asked, picking up what looked like a pregnant gnome with a Beater's bat.

"Oi! Careful! I haven't charmed 'em yet. I'm bored, and I don't want to go to the common room," Seamus replied.

"Yes, but what are you _making_?" Harry asked, taking another one that looked like a veela with bug eyes, four legs, and a large bum.

"Well, Ron's holding a troll, and that's a centaur, Harry. I'm going to charm them." Everyone watched as Seamus charmed the troll in his hands to walk around and grunt. Ron smiled and set him down on his plate, where he proceeded to destroy all he could with his club.

"Cool!" said Neville in awe, then tried to charm his own creation, which was without a doubt a garden gnome.

"You think you could make me, Harry, and Hermione? I wish I went up against this one in first year instead of the real troll. I could've just eaten him!" Ron said with a snicker, but his dorm mates said nothing. Rather, their faces etched with confusion.

"What are you talking about, Ron?" Harry asked, not taking his eyes away from Ron.

_Shite__, just when I thought I had this world down, something else creeps up behind me! Damn, damn, damn._

"Er, the troll we went up against in first year. You know, the one Quirrell let in? The one we went up against?" Ron added, hoping he wasn't making a complete fool out of himself.

"Yeah, but we never went up against a troll. Are you feeling okay?" Harry asked. Ron looked strangely at Harry then down to the troll walking on his plate. They never went against the troll? What?

"Ron?" Harry asked, waving his hand in front of his face, breaking Ron off from his train of thought. Ron shrugged his acknowledgement. And looked down at the troll again. There was something about the figurine, but he couldn't place it. Like there was a memory deep down in his mind he couldn't reach.

Suddenly, he heard a voice down the table. That wasn't any voice; it was the voice of one Hermione Granger. She was talking with Nick while picking at her pudding. Ron smiled; this was the perfect opportunity for a joke on Miss Granger.

The other boys, who simply decided to leave Ron to his daze, were chatting about whether or not Dean's creation was a sphinx or a lion. Ron picked up the tiny troll and muttered, "_Wingardium__ Leviosa_!" The small figure floated past the students and toward Hermione and Nick. He dropped it down on her plate and let it walk around. Ron quickly put his wand away and started talking to his dorm mates. He could feel her angry glare on the back of his head. Not taking the womanly evil glare as a hint, he turned to her. She held the troll in the palm of her hand up to her face, and it smacked her nose with his club. She dropped it on her plate, where it proceeded to roll around in her applesauce. Nick laughed animatedly, and Hermione huffed, going back to glare at him again. Ron smirked, took a candy corn, threw it up in the air, and caught it in his mouth, then turned back to his dorm mates, who decided that it was a lion after all.

When Ron left the feast that night, he found the tiny troll was gone.

* * *

The next day passed very quickly. Too quickly. Ron received an owl that morning informing him and Hermione of their detention with Snape. Ron remembered when he had to scrub the bedpans in third year for the slimy git, and it was the most revolting thing he'd ever done. The only thing worse would be working with spiders.

Coincidently, that meant Hermione cancelled his session that night. Though it was a detention with Snape, he found it a good opportunity to lighten Hermione up a bit. He had brainstormed some ideas and found he should act like himself, only lay the jokes and play teasing on thicker than usual.

Ron headed for Snape's classroom with a cloak pulled tightly around him. After six years at Hogwarts, he had learned simple secrets of the castle, like Myrtle was a Peeping Tom, there were magical barriers around the castle so no suicidal teenagers could jump out to their deaths, and Snape probably had some head injury in his lifetime. Who would _want_ to work in the freezing dungeons?

He opened the doors and walked in. His watch said he was on time, but it seemed nobody was there. Ron took his seat, knowing if he didn't at least _wait for Snape, Filch would whip him to death. He silently prayed that Snape wouldn't show, so he could go back up to the warm tower. The door to the storage room opened, and Snape and Hermione walked out, holding a few boxes._

Snape sneered at him. "Weasley, you're late! Ten points from Gryffindor."

"But Professor –"

"Another ten points! Now go retrieve the rest of those boxes while I speak with Miss Granger," he spat, pointing toward the back door. Ron sighed with defeat and got the boxes.

He had to hold back from gagging before he even went into the back. It smelled like rancid dragon dung with a mixture of the Polyjuice Potion. _Did Hermione have to run through this awful smell to grab the boomslang skin in second year? No wonder she's mad._ Ron gulped a large breath of air and ran in the room. He quickly searched for the boxes and pulled out as many as he could before running out. The smell got in his mouth, and it tasted just like it smelled, only with onions, too. His eyes stung to tears, and his skin felt prickled and raw. Merlin was it was awful!

He finally made it through his other two trips with his skin and eyes still intact. Snape was nowhere to be seen, and Hermione was dissecting some creatures; this one looked like a very large beetle. She was so focused and biting her lip. Ron saw her do this more times than he could count, and every time it was extremely cute. Not cute – pretty, but cute – adorable. She looked like a small child, even at sixteen. Ron pulled a chair up across from her and stared at her hair. Hermione looked up at him angrily.

"What?" she barked.

"Am I done, Miss Responsible One?" Ron asked, simply looking at whatever she was mutilating.

"Don't be a smart-aleck, Weasley," she said exasperatedly. "Take one of those boxes over there. There should be a list inside saying what you need to take out."

"Take out?" Ron asked, a bit disgusted. He looked warily over at the boxes and back at Hermione.

"Honestly! Yes, we're stocking up the supplies. Take out the parts and put them in empty jars. They're on his desk. There are two boxes that have ready supplies in them, so put them in their right places."

"Well, aren't we playing teacher?" Ron snickered. "Why don't I just help you with that box? It'll be just as fast."

"Whatever you'd like; leave me alone. Here's the list," she said and passed it to him. Ron gathered his supplies and one of the giant insects.

"Wings, stomach, eyes, legs, hairs, teeth, juice? Gross. Juice?" he asked Hermione. She looked up at him, trying her best to be patient. "What kind of juice? Body juice, saliva, what?"

"There's a packet in there with juice in it. Be careful not to break it; these are Stink Beetles."

Ron gulped and put the bug away. "I think I'll go with another box," he said, smiling nervously. "You know, I don't understand why Snape leaves his students in here. Who leaves their students all alo—" he said, opening a second box before he screamed, kicking it away.

"What is it?" Hermione asked, pulling out her wand and jumping over to him.

Ron shook his head dazedly and carefully moved to open another box, muttering, "I _hate_ spiders." Ron went through the box before remembering Hermione was in there and standing right behind him. He turned around and smiled sheepishly, his ears burning up. He expected her to look disgusted, annoyed, or even haughty for "saving" him from the spiders. However, she wasn't disgusted, annoyed, or even haughty. She was laughing – hard. So hard tears were in her eyes and she was trying her best to stay calm and stifle the noise.

Ron glared up at her, and she waved him away then turned around. What? He didn't like spiders! It wasn't his fault! She knew that! Besides, it wasn't as if spiders were cute and cuddly stuffed animals or kittens! They were creepy, killer, eight-legged insects!

"You know, it's not that unusual to be afraid of spiders!" Ron yelled angrily, and Hermione continued to shake with laughter. Ron huffed and took the box to his spot. He pulled out a squid tentacle and cut it furiously, barely paying attention to his handiwork. Hermione was still laughing while slowly making her way back to her seat. She often would stop laughing but snort and laugh again. Ron was not amused.

Finally, Hermione contained herself and said to him, still trying to hold back her giggles, "So you don't like spiders?"

"No," Ron said, clenching his teeth. "Not many people do."

"It's quite funny," she said, finally calmed down.

"I'm so glad I amuse you. I got the ice queen to laugh! I should get a bloody medal," Ron spat. Hermione tensed and worked harder at her insect.

"Don't swear; it makes you sound unintelligent," Hermione spat back, not taking her eyes from her subject.

"Oh, and laughing yourself to tears and making fun of a bloke is? Congratulations on winning 'Most Hypocritical' award, Granger. Your trophy should arrive any day now," Ron replied nastily.

"I'm sorry if you're so sensitive about your fears, but I was laughing because you didn't seem like the type of person who'd be scared of spiders!"

"And you don't seem like the kind of person who knows when to shut her cake hole!" Ron replied angrily. _Good job, Weasley! Let's insult her and watch her suck our brains out. I thought you were going to be nice to her. You know, melting?_

Ron groaned as Hermione snobbishly ignored him. _Greaaat, Ron thought miserably. For the rest of their detention, Ron and Hermione worked in a heated silence._

When Snape came back, Ron and Hermione headed back to the tower, still in their silence. Ron was angry with himself. He had such a bad temper lately – all right, all the time - but he hated it when people teased him. Hermione was right; he was overly sensitive from lack of sleep, but that was no reason for her to laugh at him! _Stop it,_ Ron thought furiously. He had to soften her up, and it wouldn't work if he was going to be a git. Even if he was provoked, he had to try and stay calm, which wasn't easy for him.

He looked up at Hermione. She was staring down at her feet, fiddling with her hands. Even now, when she was walking next to him, furious and disgusted, she still looked sad. It escaped his mind how she could look sad all the time. Sure, she wasn't always a bright ray of flowers, but she never acted like she lost her best friend. Except third year, but Ron wasn't very friendly with Hermione that year and went out of his way to ignore her. He felt awful about that to this day, but watching her now was like third year Hermione times one hundred. Ron closed his eyes and sighed tiredly. This was all too much for him to take. He stared back at Hermione again, and a shiny, white something caught his eye. He reached out and pulled it out of her hair then pocketed it for no reason. Hermione's head snapped up at him.

"What are you doing?" she barked defensively.

"You had something in your hair; it looks like a - er. . ." _Think quick!_ "blood-sucking nargle. Highly poisonous and deadly, you know. I just saved your life," Ron said, mock-haughtily. _BLOOD-SUCKING NARGLE?_

"There is no such thing," said Hermione simply and continued walking.

"Then what did I just pull out of your hair? It was a nargle, and it was about to attack, too. I saved your life, and all you can do is blow it off? You're a real Princess Charming."

"Don't be daft; nargles are myth. There is no such thing," Hermione argued exasperatedly.

"Muggles say that witches don't exist, but they're wrong, aren't they?" Ron asked with a sly smirk.

"That's different."

"No, it's not. I think you just don't want to be wrong. I heard that blood-sucking nargles were attracted to dirt. Why was it in your hair? Is it because it's the color of dirt or is dirty? It reminds me more of a nest than a dirt pile."

"Thank you for that wonderful assessment of my hair; I needed it," Hermione replied sarcastically. "Is there something you _want_? Because what _I_ want is for you to go away!"

"That hurts, really it does. I do a wonderful thing for you, and you shove me down. It's quite rude. I think you should calm down. You've always got your knickers in a twist! Besides, it's not nice to laugh at someone else," Ron said mock-seriously.

"Oh, now who's being hypocritical? You're the one teasing me! Believe me, Weasley, I'd rather be uptight than a goof off! Also, if you ever mention my knickers again, I'll hex you."

"Why are you blushing? Got anything to hide?" Ron asked with another smirk. She glared at him and increased her speed. Ron caught up with her and leaned on her head.

"You know, at your height, you make a _wonderful_ arm rest, did you know that? That would make me what? The decorative sofa pillow?"

"No, that makes you hexed! Now leave me alone," she sniped and huffed off. Ron caught up with her and mimicked her moves. He huffed and sighed until she stopped with the act and giggled exasperatedly before glaring at him. Ron received many a glare in his life, and he knew this glare was just to cover up her amusement.

"I can recite that one play, you know. Romo and Jewels or something," Ron said suddenly, looking for something to talk about.

"Romeo and Juliet?"

"That's it; do you want to hear?"

Hermione gave a defeated sigh. "Fine."

"Right," Ron cleared his throat a few times. Hermione laughed and shook her head. "Right. 'To be or not to be, that is the question.' Something, something, something. That's all I know."

Hermione looked a bit frightened but amused nonetheless. "That was – er – lovely, but that's from the play Hamlet, not _Romeo and Juliet_," she said sympathetically before continuing to the tower.

"I don't think you were entirely truthful. It sounded like you hated it," Ron replied, mock-hurt.

Hermione rolled her eyes and attempted to stifle the smile he created. "It was just – short, is all."

"So you fancy tall – er, long things?" Ron asked with a blush. He meant to ask her if she fancied tall people and such, but because of his gutter-filled head, he thought of it a very gutter-like way.

"Uh – er – um – I suppose so, yes. You?" Ron could see Hermione cringe at her words.

"Not really. I can't make fun of tall people, and shorter people are much more fun. Besides, it's easier to sweep a short person off their feet." Ron really hadn't meant to say that, but he did, and Hermione smiled bashfully, her face turning red. If he didn't know any better, he would have guessed Hermione believed he was referring to her. Though he was, he didn't mean to give any romantic innuendos.

Suddenly, Hermione looked panicked and straightened herself. She bid him an unemotional goodnight then said the password and climbed through the portrait hole. Ron followed her in and left her in the common room while he headed up to his bed.

Ron pulled the disgusting thing in Hermione's hair out of his pocket. Ron decided it would be lovely parting gift and ran back downstairs. Hermione was reading in the corner, though not reading. She was staring into the fire, looking very deep in thought. A quill and inkwell on the table next to her. She looked depressed, angry, disgusted, and _happy_ all at once. Ron cleared his throat and walked over to her.

"Your nargle, Granger. Hope you like it," he said, while his ears grew hot.

Hermione looked up at him and smiled. "Why, thank you," she started, both curt and grateful at the same time, "it's a lovely spider's egg sack."

Ron blanched and stumbled away and upstairs, hearing Hermione chuckle a bit before she was out of earshot.

* * *

Ron walked down to the Great Hall breakfast the next morning. He was extremely tired from the night before. So tired, in fact, that he considered missing breakfast altogether. However, the rumble in his stomach woke him well enough and dragged him out of bed. He sat down in-between Harry and Dean and spooned some warm cereal into his bowl, almost falling asleep in it. Right, perhaps he should have stayed in bed. Ron forced himself to eat something, which was an unusual occurrence for Ron. He looked down the table out of boredom. Most students were outside or somewhere else about the castle, except for a few. He noticed the girls from a while back – Tillie and Fay – and a few of their friends whispering to each other and giggling in the most obnoxious way. They should go to a place more cheerful, so zombie people, like himself, could sleep. People who giggled like that all the time should be incarcerated in Azkaban.

"Fay, who's that boy over there? The one with the red hair?" asked the third girl in their conversation. Ron suddenly perked up. The girl was blonde with very fake looking streaks of red. She was nice looking, but very … shallow. Why would _he_ be the topic of boneheaded, fifth year gossip? More importantly, how the hell did these people know who he was?

"Oh, that's Ron Weasley. Remember his sister in first year?"

"Right, right. So he's a . . .?"

"Sixth year. Nice looking, isn't he? He's Harry Potter's best friend, the one next to him with the glasses," said Tillie.

"I know who Harry Potter is!" said the third girl heatedly. "But Ron Weasley . . . isn't he just yummy looking? His hair is all messy; it just flops in his face, and he hasn't got that bad of a build, either. I like them lanky, yet toned." Ron couldn't help but feel a bit proud and degraded at the same time. Sure, a pretty girl was looking at him, but as if he were a puppy and she a hungry wolf. He felt a shiver go up his spine at the image of this girl literally pouncing on him. Ron went back to his cereal but listened intently to their conversation.

"Forget about it, Bridget. He's unavailable," said Fay. Ron could feel Bridget's hungry stare on his back. Damn, it was creepy.

"Who?" she asked, with her eyes still on him.

"The bushy-haired girl over there. The one reading the book," replied Fay. Ron looked down to find Hermione was the aforementioned girl. Hermione fancied HIM? WHAT? She hated him! Ron found himself at a loss for words.

"_HER_? Please, she's not even pretty enough to talk to him!" Ron felt a surge of anger. So his best friends had to queue to talk with him? They suddenly had to wait behind the nicer-looking people? "Besides, if they're a couple, why isn't she sitting next to him?"

"Bridget," sighed Tillie exasperatedly, "they're not a couple, but as long as Fay and I can remember, she's fancied him. She just doesn't like to show it. In fact, she pretends that she hates him. The silly girl doesn't think anyone knows, either! Personally, I think if she just got her snobby, fat nose out of that damn book, she could have a shot. It surprises me that she fancies a Weasley above all when she thinks of herself so highly. Probably lives in a mansion and has loads of money. The Weasleys aren't off the best in the financial department, but my sister dated Charlie Weasley. She said he was one of the nicest, most adorable men she's ever met. I'd expect that _Ronald_ would be just as lovely. It's terrible that he's off-limits, though."

He could feel Bridget's stare becoming more determined and possessive. _Riiight__ . . . Psycho, stalker fifteen-year-old has a crush on me, and the rest of the lot know my entire personal history! Don't these girls have classes and other studying they could do? Go get a new hobby, girls, and leave my personal life out of it. In fact, take a vow of silence, give up men-stalking, and become Muggles or nuns or both! Muggle nuns are good._

"It doesn't matter; she never made a move. He's not officially taken, so he's fair game. What is she going to do? Tell me to lay off the boy she hates? Right," drawled the girl menacingly. Ron couldn't help but feel a tad nervous around her. Why wouldn't he? She was a stalker lunatic. Ron bit his lip and stood from the table, waving Harry off by saying he needed more sleep. It wasn't a total lie; he _did_ need sleep, but whether or not he would get it was up to the softness of his pillow.

Ron couldn't help but wonder, though. Hermione _fancied_ him? He really preferred not to listen to that rubbish, especially after Rita Skeeter, unless he had reason to believe it. Ron couldn't help but think that perhaps it was true. Girls were nutters after all, and very sly and seductive. Ron laughed out loud. Yes, Hermione was clever, but not sly, and the day that _Hermione _Granger_ became seductive was the day she walked down the corridor swaying her hips in a womanly fashion, taking pride in older male students saying, "I want a piece of that Gryffindor tart." Those fifth years were wrong. They probably had a small idea in their empty heads or heard another rumor about her saying something. Eventually the rumors would blow up into "Hermione Granger shagged Ron Weasley's brain out." Or "she's loved him ever since they first laid eyes on each other, and now they're getting married." Or even "She was dating these other boys to lessen her love for the sexy redhead, but then Ron beat them up, and now they're dating." He knew it, like all rumors, would all turn into something ridiculous, completely untrue, and almost revolting. Actually, the part about shagging and a sexy redhead – meaning himself – was the only part of it that sounded somewhat appealing. Not with Hermione, though; another girl like Fleur or Eloise. When Hermione said Eloise's acne was clearing up in fourth year, she wasn't joking! Eloise was a knockout, even with her off-center nose._

Ron cleared the thought of Hermione Granger acting like a harlot, snogging the beautiful Hufflepuff, and any idea of Hermione fancying him out of his head. Luckily, his pillow was very soft, and he went right to sleep. 

* * *

That night, when Ron and Harry came inside from a small walk around the grounds, Ron wasn't surprised to find Hermione working diligently at her homework. This was the perfect opportunity to heat things up.

He moved the sofa while Harry ran upstairs to grab the cards. When he returned, they played a few loud, boisterous games of Muggle Slap. The best part was the risk of slapping the cards and them blowing up beneath your hand, which hurt like hell. After a few games, the two boys changed to Fish.

"Got any twos?" Harry asked.

"Damn you, Potter," said Ron as he handed over two twos. "Got any fives?"

"Go fis – WOAH!" yelled Harry as a card blew up in his face. Ron laughed hysterically. Harry's hair was messier than ever, and soot covered his face. Harry muttered for Ron to "shuddup" right before Ron's cards blew up, causing a chain reaction with all the cards. Ron was sure his skin had burned through, and his clothes were covered in ashes. Both boys went up in hysterics when they saw the other's face.

"Honestly," Hermione muttered from her spot. Ron and Harry ceased their laughing and glared at Hermione. Just like her to take the fun out of it. Ron sighed as the cards reassembled themselves from the ashes, and they cleaned them up. Ron walked over to Hermione, eager for another opportunity to lighten her up. Harry grinned as Ron went in for the kill.

Ron tapped her opposite shoulder and snatched her book while she turned away. She huffed annoyance and went back to her things. When she noticed her book missing, she glared right at Ron. He leaned on the wall next to her, examining her book.

"_Useful Spells for the Common Witch_?" Ron asked interestedly.

"Give me that back right now, you little pillock," she spat, sounding as if she was going to hex him on the spot.

"Pillock? I suppose they didn't have _Useful Spells for the Intolerable Witch_, did they?" Ron asked and handed her book back. Harry snickered on the other side of the room, while Hermione gritted her teeth and went back to her work.

"Oh, c'mon, now. I need your help. You are my tutor and all," Ron said half-heartedly.

Hermione sighed with impatience. "_What_?"

Ron's eyes widened. Best not test her any further. "I need the essay list." Hermione quickly pulled it out and shoved it into his chest.

"I'd like a session tomorrow night, but you can get a head start if you'd like. There are only five essays this week and five spells to practice," she said. Ron scanned his eyes down the list. These spells were simple. His eyes crossed a certain charm, and an idea formed in his head.

"Say, Granger, I need help with the Summoning Charm; when should we practice it? I know we won't have time for all of this tomorrow."

"Oh no," she refused in an instant. "I have four other students to help, and I don't have time to help you. Get Potter to help; he can do it."

"Harry's not my tutor; you are," Ron stated firmly.

"I really wish I could help you, Weasley," she started sarcastically, "but I can't. Sorry."

Ron rolled his eyes and walked away. He knew perfectly well how to perform a Summoning Charm, but his plan to work with Hermione went down the drain. It wasn't over yet. That was only part one of his plan. . .

Ron took his wand out of his robes and pointed it over to where Hermione was working. He waited until she set down her quill and Summoned it to himself and stuffed it in his wand pocket. Harry snickered, and Ron motioned for him to be quiet. Hermione turned back and looked around for her quill, then resigned and rummaged through her bag for another. Ron thought this was the perfect opportunity and Summoned her book as well, before hiding it behind his back in the seat cushion. When Hermione found a spare quill, she wrote down a few sentences before noticing her book was missing as well. Ron could tell by her body that she was suspicious of them. Ron's own suspicions were confirmed when she turned around to look at him. Ron smiled, and Harry dealt out the cards. Good old Harry always had the perfect cover-up.

"Can I help you with something?" Ron asked. She narrowed her eyes and pulled another book out from her large stack on the floor. He Summoned her essay and stuffed it in his other pocket. This time when Hermione discovered her well thought out and perfect essay missing, she stomped up and strode over to them, reminding Ron of his own mother.

"Why, hello, Granger," said Ron, putting on an innocent face. "Care to join?"

"No, I don't _care to join_!" she shouted, mimicking Ron. A few of the other students playing gobstones on the floor or chess at the table looked up at all the commotion. A few sighed, tired of their arguing.

"Why are you over here, then?" Ron asked curiously.

"You know _perfectly_ well why I came over! I want my things back!" Hermione huffed.

"Well, aren't we a bright, little ray of sunshine today?" Ron said in a casual manner. "Sorry, but I don't have them."

"Oh yes, you do, you little liar! Now give them back!"

"You work too hard, do you know that? Take a break from working all the time. It's rather dull, meaning you're rather dull as well," said Ron tactfully. Frankly, Ron didn't think Hermione was at all dull, but it was true that she had to relax. He thought Hermione was one of the most interesting people he'd ever met, but with the constant bad attitude, she wasn't a pleasant person to be with.

"Why, thank you, Mr. Irresponsible, but I don't need _your_ advice! Now give me back my things!" Hermione shouted and reached behind Ron. Ron grabbed her hand and pushed it back to her.

"Actually, I think you do. See, you're helping me with my grades; why can't I help you loosen up a bit?"

"Because I don't need your help! Now give me back my things and just leave me alone! I hate you! Ever since you went off on Draco Malfoy, all you've been is annoying and rude! Constantly teasing me and making a fool out of me! Well, I'm tired of it! I'm tired of you! Why don't you just grow up? You – you – you annoying, irresponsible, insufferable, rude, selfish prat! Now give me back my things!" Hermione screamed, fuming. Ron stared at her in disbelief. Nobody in the common room made a sound, fearing the wrath of Miss Granger.

_Not a good day to push her buttons; I'll remember that next time._

Ron glared daggers at her. It wasn't her fault he was a prat, but he was trying to calm down a bit. Well, that worked smashingly. Why couldn't she just try to be a bit more patient? Other people would have found that funny or annoying, but amusing nonetheless, but she didn't have to shriek like a bloody banshee because she didn't get her way.

"You know, Granger," Ron said darkly, taking her things out of his robes, "why not try being a bit nicer to people? Maybe if you were nicer and didn't have your nose so high up your arse, people would like you better. Take your things and go away."

Hermione snatched her things from his hands and for a moment looked as if she would slap him. She only glared and muttered, "Glad to, _arsehole."_

Had Hermione just _sworn_? Bloody hell!

Hermione huffed angrily and stomped toward the girls' staircase. Before she closed the door, Ron called out, "Oi! Granger, it's not nice to swear!"

Ron was on the receiving end of a very loud door slam.

* * *

The next day, after contemplating the events of the night prior, he came to two – no, three conclusions. One, he was acting very strange compared to his "old" self, and Harry was becoming a bit suspicious; two, his joke wasn't very good, and three, Hermione was much bitchier than the one in the other world. Sure, the other Hermione would have huffed and pouted, though secretly liking it, for a little while, but this Hermione threw a tantrum. He did take it too far, but she was being so stubborn and rude. What happened to the girl he saw in the library? She was pleasant and nice, not obnoxious and haughty! He was at a loss. He really was angry with Hermione for being so immature, but he had to remind himself of what he would gain by befriending her – again.

Though he wouldn't admit it, he missed Hermione – a lot. He secretly fancied her a bit in fourth and fifth year, but only a bit. It was more like possessiveness and strong concern. When he saw her with Krum, he was worried about his best friend and, for the first time, saw her as a girl because of it. He didn't want to share her with anyone else but Harry. There was an unseen bond between them. Even with the arguing and their differences, they really were the best of friends, and they still cared about one another. Even if some couldn't see it.

However, last year was the end of his small crush. The night in the hospital wing, Hermione went off about how nobody listened to her and Sirius died because she didn't try harder. He listened to her rant on about how nobody cared what she thought. She said how Ron never gave her any credit and always went with Harry.

Ron felt bad that Hermione was crying. But it was worse when she practically accused him of not caring about her. She always showed that she cared for them and that she would do anything, but it hurt she thought _he_ didn't care about her. Was their friendship nothing? Ron almost told her sometimes people don't listen to her because rational thought is clouded by concern and love. Even though she always thought things through, he and Harry weren't like that. Of course, she knew that.

After he looked back on it, he remembered almost every rude comment she ever said to him. She was pushing him away. Too consumed with Harry, You-Know-Who, Umbridge, and practically taking on everything. Ron once found that quality admirable, but when she started pushing away, he saw where her priorities lay. They were with Harry and making sure the Boy Who Lived was okay. Sure, Ron was worried about Harry, too, and he made it a priority of his to make sure Harry was okay, but when Hermione put Harry and what was good for Harry as her first priority, Ron felt put out. She wasn't like that all the time, but she lost her temper with him, not Harry. She was more sensitive to Harry's feelings than his. Ron wasn't jealous, just annoyed.

He forgave her after he thought about it. Harry was very important, and the projects weren't all for Harry, but everyone, too. He cut her some slack because she was going through a hard time. She _was_ under a lot of pressure, and everything was difficult. But the damage had been done, and he no longer had a crush on Hermione Granger. That whole year was just awful. There was so much going on that year that his attraction faded away.

But that was done now, and the past couldn't be changed.

Ron walked into the kitchens for a quick snack before his session with Hermione. He really wasn't ecstatic about seeing her tonight, especially after the night before, but as long as he didn't annoy her _too_ much.

He did come up with a plan for tonight though. It seemed she didn't like playful teasing or help, but why not politeness? He wasn't used to politeness since he usually was a sarcastic, funny kind of bloke, but it couldn't be that hard, right?

As soon as he stepped inside, a horde of house-elves crowded around to serve him. Ron looked around for the house-elves that always served him. Dobby was pretty annoying, but he worshiped Ron and always knew what Ron wanted. But he couldn't find him.

"May Torrin help you, sir?" asked one of the elves. Ron looked down at him. He was looking up at Ron with eagerness.

"Yeah. Where's Dobby?" Ron asked. Torrin looked very confused and turned to his surrounding elves for support.

"Dobby, sir? There is no Dobby. Torrin knows not of Dobby. Elves know Dobby?" called the elf in a squeaky voice. One elf raised his hand and ran over.

"I is Doobly, sir. Did sir mean Doobly?" asked a girl house-elf, smiling shyly.

"No, sorry. Dobby. D-O-B-B-Y. Doesn't anyone know a _Dobby_?" Ron asked, calling out to the elves. Dobby wasn't there! Yet another elf raised his hand and ran over.

"I knows a Dobby. Dobby is a strange elf. Is the Dobby you know strange?" asked the young male house-elf.

"Gondey! Gondey is bad! Gondey no speak bad of kinsmen! Bad Gondey!" said an elder house-elf, hitting him on the head.

"Gondey is sorry."

"Wait, quiet! Yeah, Dobby is a bit of a nutter. Do you know where he is? Is he ill?" Ron asked.

Gondey moved away from the house-elf who hit him and said to Ron, "Dobby is Gondey's cousin. Gondey was sold to Hogwarts. Gondey born in another house when very small. Dobby is at Malfoy Manor, sir. Dobby works there."

Malfoy Manor? He thought Dobby was freed! Ron sat down in a chair and asked for a few lemon squares and a butterbeer. The house-elves scurried to get Ron his food. Ron looked over at the fire. Well, there was one thing that didn't change. Winky was still there.

But why? Winky was still there. Why wasn't Dobby at Hogwarts? He was freed in second year when Harry gave him a sock. . . . But what if Harry didn't _give_ him a sock? Why wouldn't Harry give him a sock? Ron was stuck. None of this made sense. Wait a tick!

Ron called one of the house-elves, and she scurried over with a spatula in her hand. "Sir is needing something from Beeca? Beeca is happy to serve, sir."

"Uh, Beeca? Have you heard of spew?"

"Spew, sir? Is spew a food? Beeca is a chef, and Beeca knows many foods. Beeca is eager to learn new foods, sir!"

"No, spew – actually S.P.E.W. – it's an organization to free the house-elves. You haven't heard of anyone finding stray, knitted clothes in the Gryffindor common room, right?"

"Free the elves? Oh no, no, no, no, no! Who is trying to free the elves? The elves no want freeing!"

"Beeca, calm down. Have you heard about the hats? Or a girl coming to talk to you about freeing?"

"No, sir, not heard of hats. Beeca's sister cleans Gryffindor common room. Beeca can ask Tissy, if sir likes," squeaked the elf and called her sister. Ron was surprised to hear there was no spew or hats. Had Hermione given up on it, or was it never created in the first place? Ron guessed it never existed. Hermione wasn't a person to give things up lightly.

When the house-elves came back, they had plenty of food to fill Ron up. He thanked the house-elves and left, thinking about why Dobby wasn't at Hogwarts and why S.P.E.W. didn't exist. It didn't make sense though. Dobby's freeing had nothing to do with S.P.E.W. and vice versa, but neither existed - well, Dobby wasn't at Hogwarts anyway. If Dobby was still with the bloody Malfoys and S.P.E.W didn't exist, then they had to be connected somehow. But what was it?

Ron finished his butterbeer and stuffed the extra butterbeer and last of the lemon squares in his pocket. Gifts certainly softened someone. Though, if Pince saw food in her library, she would have a fit. Hermione, too, for that matter.

He moved to his typical spot. The library was relatively crowded. Mostly the upper years, but there was a good number of first and second years, who were still getting the hang of school. Ron knew Muggles had something called primary schools where kids learned to read and write. But in the wizarding world, parents or even private tutors taught children the basics. Pureblooded first years had never gone to _real_ school like the half-bloods and Muggle-borns. His dad wanted to send him and his siblings to a primary school, but his mum put her foot down. She let him fool with Muggle things, but she wouldn't let him take his obsession _too_ far.

Hermione was studying, like usual, but he noticed a simple leather-bound book on the stack of her library books. It looked far too small to be a notebook like Ron's. It almost looked like a _diary_. Ron sniggered at his own thought. Hermione didn't _keep_ a _diary_. Diaries were for girlie-girls, who didn't spend all their free time studying. They were for girls like Lavender or Parvati, not Hermione.

Ron put his book bag next to the chair across from Hermione and sat down. She glanced up at him and continued with her notes. Ron cleared his throat; Hermione ignored him. Ron cleared it again. Nothing. "Granger?"

She finished writing her sentence very slowly, making it clear to Ron that he was not important. "What?" she snapped, dipping her quill in the inkwell. She made sure to avoid eye contact with Ron. So she was still angry.

_APOLOGIZE for yesterday, idiot. Girls somehow like it when you apologize for things. Why can't they be like blokes and forget about it? They have to have you bloody say it! Oh well, might as well get it over with._

"About yesterday –" Ron started, but Hermione cut him off.

"I don't want to talk about that. This is time for me to _tutor_ you, not chit chat. So! I see that you know your Summoning Charm well enough; may I have the list? I'll cross off anything you actually _can do," she said icily._

_Right, so the apologizing thing didn't work. Damn women, why can't they all just be like men? Things would be so much simpler. _Ron narrowed his eyes and reluctantly handed the parchment over. She pulled it out of his hands with one swift motion, almost cutting his skin.

"Oi, watch it!" He examined his hand, luckily nothing.

"Watch yourself," she whispered coldly. Well, her knickers were in a twist today.

_November third, 1995: the ice-cold tutoring session from hell, which actually makes no sense. So it's the ice-cold tutoring session from the cold part of hell – the part under Antarctica._ _Yes, that makes sense, Ron,_ he thought sarcastically.

Ron went down Hermione's list, performing each spell perfectly. With every checkmark she made, her face furrowed even deeper into confusion and suspicion.

"Right, last one, Stealth Charm?" she asked, observing him keenly.

"Which Stealth Charm?" Ron asked smugly. Right, impress the girl who's good at spells and stuff! Perfect. "There's one for inanimate objects, one for people and animals, and another for a large area of land."

"Well, the one for inanimate objects would be nice, since that's the one we've learned," she said simply, talking to him as if he were daft.

_Nothing, and I repeat NOTHING, will get this girl to like me. Damn it!_

"_Comelon__ quill!"_ whispered Ron, and the quill in Hermione's hand seemed to vanish. Hermione's eyes widened, and she waved the quill around in awe.

"Wow! This is really good, Weasley! Flitwick said you got a five on this charm! This is definitely a nine or even ten! How'd you do that?" she asked, smiling. 

Ron smirked. _YES! YES! YES! WOO! WOO! I got her to smile! WOO! WOO! HAHAHAHAHA! TAKE THAT DESTINY!_

Ron couldn't help but see the old Hermione in this Hermione. She was excited for him and being uncharacteristically sweet. Ron relished her face and her smile – which was bucktoothed – and the whole of her. He missed Hermione and Harry so much. It really was difficult. He saw them everyday, but it wasn't _them. But for this tiny moment, Ron saw Hermione again. It made him even more miserable._

Ron smirked sadly, trying to cover up his homesickness. "A good friend helped me."

"Who knew Potter was so good with Charms?" Hermione said in amazement and undid his spell.

_No, the charming one is my dear friend, Hermione._

"Er – yeah," Ron said as she quickly read over the essay list again. She didn't seem to hear him as she tapped her quill automatically. Ron picked up a book and some parchment. He didn't want to be caught staring at his "rival." He looked at her from over his essay. It appeared as if she wasn't concentrating on what was on the parchment at all, but actually deep in thought. Her eyes glazed over, she muttered silently to herself every so often, and she rolled her eyes as if she wanted to search her brain. For a brief moment, he saw her face skew into anger, but then she forced herself to calm down. As small as the action was (and Ron was becoming very good at recognizing Hermione's facial and body language), he caught it.

The fact that he was staring at Hermione finally wormed its way into his brain, and he concentrated on his essay. McGonagall's essay was easy, Heart's was a bit more difficult, and Charms was on the differences in the three Stealth Charms and their uses. But Snape's was brutal.

Ron was halfway through his Potions essay when he was stumped on another use for dragon's blood.

"Hermione?" Ron asked politely, and Hermione glanced up at him. "Do you have a book on the twelve uses of dragon blood?" She handed him a smaller book in her large pile next to her bag and went back to her work. No snide remarks, no evil looks – in fact, hardly a look at all. _Well, ignoring is one step up from hatred. Right?_

"Thanks," he muttered quietly and browsed through the table of contents.

"You're welcome," she replied unconsciously. He didn't get one sentence down before he felt Hermione's girlish stare on his head. He snuck a peek and saw the confusion and surprise in her eyes. Ron did a victory dance in his head then went back to his paper. Though he tried concentrating, Hermione's gaze never faltered, and he could tell she was deep in thought. She sighed deeply and went back to her essay but, not a moment later, sneezed from all the dust.

"Bless you," Ron said instinctively and felt her stare again. He looked up, unafraid and unabashed this time. Her eyes were narrowed at him in suspicion. He smiled nervously and went back to his essay. The air around them was cold, tense, and awkward. _How the hell did this happen? Dammit! I was doing so well!_

The two continued in awkward silence. Ron silently concluded that the politeness thing wasn't working too well. What was he going to do? Nothing worked on her! How in the world he and Harry even managed it in the first place was beyond him. Suddenly Hermione started to put her things away.

"Going somewhere?" Ron asked as she put her quill in its proper place.

"To get a book, though it's none of your concern," she whispered snappishly.

_Now she's back to quipping and insulting. Oh joy._

"I'll come," he started, finding this the perfect opportunity for a break and heating up time. Not in a naughty, sexual way, but in a becoming friends way. _I've got to get my bloody head of the damn gutter._

"You have an essay, and I want it by tomorrow night, so I can check it before you turn it in," she said with finality. However, Ron paid no mind to her tone; he would have to stand up to her if he wanted her back.

"I need a break; my hand is cramping up," he said, stretching his fingers and wrist. "You certainly can't look over my essay if it's illegible. Where exactly are you going anyway?"

"There's no negotiating with you, is there?" she sighed exasperatedly.

"Many have tried, and only my mum's won," he said with a lopsided smile. Her eyes softened a little, and a small smile formed between her nose and chin.

"I'll take that as a 'Fine, but just don't talk, breathe, and pretend not to exist, so I can ignore you'?" he asked jokingly, and Hermione chuckled. _YES! YES! YES! No matter what, I can count on dear old Hermione and her non-giggling. I'd go bloody insane if she were ANYTHING like Breanne or whatever the hell her name was._

Hermione walked over to a section in the back of the library. Every book was titled with the word "Biography" or "Autobiography." Hermione scanned the shelves intensely. She must've taken his advice and pretended he didn't exist. Ron watched her just as interestedly as she was studying the books. She didn't look any different from the normal Hermione. Her hair was still bushy, her eyes were still brown, she was still short, but her posture was a little bit slouchier. For someone with such a proper upbringing (or so one would assume), she wasn't the most respectable girl. Her back must've permanently gone slouch from all the time she spent reading and the heavy load she carried every day. Other than the posture and her teeth, her appearance was the same.

"You know, it's not polite to stare," Hermione said, interrupting his thoughts. She continued to look for the book and then suddenly found it and briskly walked past.

Ron ignored her reprimand and attempted to stop her. "Why were you looking for whoever-that-is's biography?"

"That's not your concern," she quipped.

"I'm just interested. Why?"

"I like to know what great things other people have done in their lives."

"Because yours is so boring?" Ron asked sensitively. She spun around and glared at him with that evil stare only women had – the one where they just knew he was up to something. All mums have mastered it, and paranoid girlfriends have as well. Hermione was neither. So why did she have the "all knowing womanly glare"?

"Well, I'm certainly no Merlin," she snapped. "Go finish your essay and give it to me later. I'll be in the common room." With that, she spun on her heel and left him in her wake. Still stupefied by her actions, he did as he was told and finished his essay.

_Women are so damn confusing! They're fine with you one minute and hate you the next. For the life of me, I'll never figure them out._

* * *

That Thursday, dinner was normal. Ron and Harry talked about schoolwork, "the slave driver," Occlumency, and Snape. Afterwards, Harry had some extra homework to do. Ron had to admit that Hermione's constant chiding about his procrastination had helped him break the habit. He didn't often get alone time as of late because of all the schoolwork, trying to get along with Hermione, and the stress of living in a completely different world.

It was the perfect night to take advantage of Umbridge's lack of intelligence. He took his broom out the grounds for a bit of practice. He was no Harry when it came to flying, but he still enjoyed it. It reminded him of home – a small escape from this reality and back to the Burrow.

In the air, the wind brushed past his face and combed through his hair. He closed his eyes, breathing in the simplicity of his silent escape. It silenced and calmed the world and surrounded him in his own mind. Nothing mattered at that point because nothing existed. The stinging wind, now cold with the sun's absence, the darkness of night, the loneliness of the grounds, and the still tranquility of the warm castle only a few meters away. Clouds rolled in, encircling the moon before blocking its light from the wet, green grass of Hogwarts.

The image of his last night in his old life flashed before his eyes. His and Hermione's argument and him storming off. He took refuge in the air and in flying just like now. His anger cooled down after a while. He knew they were all stressed, and he thought some things he wished he hadn't. He felt bad later, after he ran over what he said in his mind. It was a time everyone needed to stand together, and he was causing problems and betraying his friends. Maybe not literally, but with every traitorous thing he felt, the sense of shame and resentment toward his immaturity had increased. He had to grow up and stop the bickering with Hermione. He had to support his friends. The rifts didn't help – or at least _hadn't_ helped - the situation.

Nothing could be done now; it was all in the past and completely unknown. Nobody knew what happened between them; nobody knew what he felt for her – in that world and this. Nobody knew that he considered her as one of his best friends, and even more. She was more than just a friend to him. He couldn't explain it in words – not like she could. She was brilliant. She could explain the unexplainable. When he was around her and Harry, he felt whole – as if some divine force decided they would all be friends.

Ron opened his eyes and flew back down to the ground. It was almost pitch black now, the glow of the castle the only light. A small drizzle fell around him; the cold drops stuck to his hair and slowly seeped through his thick layers. He ran for the castle, eager for its warmth. He didn't want to be alone outside anymore. He wanted to be with his friends. That flight reminded him he needed to be with Harry and Hermione.

As soon as he entered the castle, he dried his clothes and ran for the common room. It was late now – much later than he imagined. The lights were low, indicating nobody was in the hallways. He increased his speed and thanked the gods he wasn't caught. The grandfather clock in the corner said it was nine. Only an hour – that wasn't bad.

"Ron, there you are! C'mere, I'm working on an essay about Howler Ghouls. You did that one already, right? What book did you use? I can't find the damn things anywhere," Harry said in frustration and fell back into his chair. Ron Accio-ed a book from his room and handed it to Harry.

"_Creatures of the Himalayas_."

"Thanks. Oh, watch out for Granger. She was looking for you earlier, and she didn't seem happy."

_Shite__, shite, shite, I'm dead._

"Right. Thanks," he said and moved toward the portrait hole to find Hermione. It didn't take a psychic to know she was in the library. As soon as he opened the portrait, he saw Hermione standing there, looking very angry. Her hand was on her hip; she was tapping her foot and glaring at him in that killer-woman way. Ron's blood went cold as she forced him outside.

"_Where have you been?_" she whispered heatedly.

"I was flying," he said simply. He wasn't going to be scared of her. She was his tutor, not his mother.

"_FLYING?_ Why were you out flying? You have loads of homework to do and those essays! Weasley, McGonagall put me in charge of you and your studies. That's what I'm doing. I don't care if you want to go flying; you have to put your work first. If you want to go back on the team and go onto seventh year, that is. If you're going to waste your and _my time and energy, don't be surprised when the consequences come back and bite you in the bum," she scolded arrogantly. "But it's _my_ job to make sure _you_ don't do anything wrong. So from now on, you must check all leisure activities with me. If you want to play chess, show me your homework. If you want to go flying, show me your essays. If you want to do anything at all, you have to have your work done._

"You need to grow up, Weasley. Your actions don't just affect you and demonstrate your lifestyle, it also affects _my_ job and how good a tutor I am. You can't squander all your time away! Think of how this impacts others! You aren't the only person in the world! So I expect every single essay and homework paper in my hand tomorrow."

Ron glared at her menacingly. How dare she? _It's no wonder nobody likes her! She can't accept help from people; she's rude, conceited, annoying, hot-headed, and just awful. She's a hypocrite – acting the way she says not to._

"Listen, _Granger_, I've been as patient as I can with you. Day in and day out, all I get is surliness when I treat you nicely. I know you don't like me, but we work together, damn it! I try getting along with you, but you continue to reject it. Let me tell you something, I'm tired of it. Bollocks to it all if you can't even bother to be somewhat _decent_! You tell me to grow up; well, I'll tell you another. Part of growing up is accepting that you have to work with people you don't like. I acted upon that; why can't you do it as well? You act like you're so mature and grown-up; well, I'll clue you in. You're not. You may be clever and bookish, but you have a hell of a lot to learn about maturity. You could be the cleverest person in the world for all I know, but you're still intolerable and arrogant. _You're_ the one who chose to be my tutor. I didn't ask you for your help; you approached _me_. So don't use others to get me to do what I need to do. What does your little rant say about you? It says that you're a brilliant person, but you have the maturity level of an eleven-year-old. You have no respect for other people, and you're a hypocrite.

"I'll give you one thing; my actions don't just affect me. It's terrible that you don't even understand that yourself. You treat people like pond scum. Have you considered how your haughtiness and ignorance affect others? That's right, _ignorant_. You may know a lot of facts from books, but you have no understanding of what the world is like. The world doesn't care if you know what year Handor the Horrible died or the yeti was first sighted. This is the world, Hermione! _Hogwarts_ is the world, Granger! Sheltered, but a small taste of the world, nonetheless. You could know the secrets of the world, but without a good attitude, nobody will care what you know.

"You may be my tutor, but you aren't my mum. I don't have to check things with you; I don't have to listen to you; I can figure things out for myself. I don't have to sit and take your abuse, and I don't need you. I'm not as daft as you think I am; I can and _will_ do this for myself. So consider yourself _fired_. The only thing I lose by losing you is you yourself – but perhaps that's more of a _gain_ than anything else.

"You should never make assumptions – though, I'm sure you learned that already. I finished my work _yesterday_. And, _Granger_, I'm sure somewhere deep inside you there's a nice person, but right now all I see is a heartless wench."

Ron stormed back into the common room without a second glance or thought. However, his ears caught the sound of a lonely girl crying. And with the final slam of the portrait hole (much to the chagrin of the Fat Lady), Ronald Weasley shunned Hermione Granger from his life – and his heart.

*~*~*~*~*

I hoped you liked TypicalHornySixteen-year-old!Ron as much as I liked writing him.

I know I used a bad pun in here, Ron cookies to those who can find it, but hell, this is my story! I like puns (if they are used sparingly). :-D

Anyway, I'm sorry about the long update. I hate finals and holidays. I finally found time for writing in-between parties, swimming, and school. Thank God Christmas is tomorrow, and I can FINALLY get some ME and HARRY time. :-D

Anyway, I was going to make this chapter longer, but I decided to split it up. I hope you liked this chapter because the next one is more angst, angst, angst. Within the next three or four chapters, a lot will be revealed, and the plot will start moving more toward a romance and less of a teeter-totter stalemate. Up and down, up and down, never moving forward – you know.

Thank you so much to my beta, Liberty; you are absolutely wonderful! You give me so much support and praise; I couldn't ask for more. Thank you! MUAH! 3

Thanks to all my reviewers; you people are wonderful! Thank you so much!

Oh! If anyone knows The Treacle Tart personally, tell her she rules.

Anxiously awaiting Fellytones sequel,

Olivia Frost


	8. Chapter 8: In the Depths of a Subconscio...

*~*~*~*~*

The Troll

By Olivia Frost

Chapter 8: In the Depths of a Subconscious

*~*~*~*~*

Ron slammed the portrait hole behind him and headed for the stairs. He couldn't think right now. Hermione was a right wench, and he was tired of her constant nagging and rudeness. He didn't feel a single bit of remorse over what he said, because she deserved it. But he did feel a bit bad for making her cry. It didn't matter; she deserved every word and every tear. Sometimes the truth hurt, and maybe it would deflate her head a bit. She made Percy's look like a tiny bubble!

"Ron? Ron!" Harry called after him as he headed up the stairs. Ron could hear him follow. He went in his dorm and went straight for his bed then began to hit the stuffing out of his pillow.

Neville and Harry watched him beat the feathers out of his pillow, knowing it was best for him to get his anger out instead of punching them. With one final punch, Ron sat down on his bed and put his face in his hands.

"Granger get to you?" Harry asked and sat next to his best friend.

"More than you can even begin to comprehend. She's a bloody nightmare! I couldn't stand her one more minute."

"Weasley finally wised up, didn't he?" said Seamus from the doorway. Ron looked up and saw Dean was behind him. "Thought it'd take you forever to figure out she's an awful bitch."

Ron felt the heat rise in him; he could call Hermione that because he knew her enough to say that. Bloody Irish.

"I don't know what you were thinking even agreeing to it, Ron; I could've helped you just as much, and you'd still have your pillow," said Dean, laughing along with Seamus.

"You have to wonder, Dean, what Miss Granger would be like if she took all that negative energy and put it to good _use_," said Seamus and nudged his friend in the ribs. The two laughed energetically. Ron had to wonder what the hell they were playing at.

"Granger may be a right wench, but she's not bad looking – I wouldn't mind a little _negative energy_," said Dean, and the two cracked up more. Harry was blushing a bit and chuckling. Neville turned away from the conversation and minded his own business. Suddenly, Ron cottoned on. BAD MENTAL IMAGES! Oh, he'd kill them! Who the hell did they think they were, saying things like that about Hermione? He'd pound their faces into mush. They. Would. Die.

"Shut up!" Ron exclaimed, and the three stopped laughing. They looked at him strangely.

"What's the matter with you, Weasley?" Seamus asked. "Thought you hated her."

"I hate Lavender, too, but I don't talk about her like that," Ron said, taking a deliberate stab at Seamus' girlfriend.

"Watch your mouth, Weasley," he said darkly.

"As soon as you shut yours," Ron snapped and pulled the curtains closed around his bed but then remembered Harry was still there and kicked him out – literally.

"Oi, you lot, can you leave for a tick, so I can talk with Ron?" Harry asked, and they agreed.

"Ron?" Harry asked through the curtains. "What exactly happened between you and Granger? What's going on now?"

"What's going on now is that I get a nice, long, permanent break from the cow."

"She's not your tutor anymore?"

"No, now she's my shag mate. What'd you think?" Ron asked sarcastically.

Harry groaned with frustration and pulled open the curtains "I think that you're daft – a prat – a git – an idiot – thick – stupid! Whichever way you want to say it, you made the stupidest decision of your life! Damn it, Ron! What the hell were you thinking? How could you –?"

Ron was completely flabbergasted. "How could I? Let's see you spend one day with that lunatic! I got tired of all the nagging and the insults and the bossing me around!" he exclaimed and stuttered around his words as if he were insane. "I couldn't take it anymore, Harry; I couldn't. The girl raving! It was like spending a day with a million bloody Malfoys, except worse because she's a girl . . . and girls are insane! You know 'hath no fury like a woman scorned?' She's the reason! It's not even funny how scary she is, and if I, one day, end up married to a man instead of a woman - blame it on her."

Harry sniggered and rolled his eyes. "Ron, I highly doubt that you'll go gay."

"If you spent one day with her, you'd be turned off women forever!" Ron groaned and fell back on his bed.

"But you spent months with her, and yet you're still very much heterosexual."

"How would you know? I could be bisexual or asexual, for all you know."

"Because you still have the photo of Celestina Warbeck on your ceiling," said Harry, stealing a glance at the singer clad in nothing but black, lacy knickers. Ron stole a glance, too._ 'Best blackmail I ever used on Fred and George.'_

"Point taken," Ron mumbled and sat up.

"The thing is, Ron, _I_ couldn't stand Granger for more than a day, but you did. Do you have any idea how incredible that is? If she really is as bad as you say she is, then you just proved two things. One, you're extremely patient, and two, you're a quitter."

"What?" Ron asked, the heat of anger boiling in him.

"I mean, look at you. You went from near failing to a pretty good student. Who do you think did that? Granger, that's who. As much as I hate her, she was good for you."

"I did those things on my own, Harry. She didn't do anything. I'll prove to you that I can do this on my own, and I don't need that head case to help me."

Harry shook his head and rubbed his eyes. "Don't get defensive, but I'm not so sure. She did a lot for you. It's almost incredible. Your grades are up, and _we_ aren't getting in as much trouble, and as much fun as that is, I don't fancy detentions.

"Ron, you really need to get help from her. I hate it as much as you do, but as much as I hate detentions – especially ones with Snape – I'd hate it even more if you were held back."

"So you're basically saying you want me to go through five more months of unspeakable torture?"

"Yeah. You don't get held back, and if she's as bad as you say, I get the poster," Harry said, laughing, and headed to the common room.

"Shut up!" Ron feigned annoyance and threw his pillow at Harry. It beamed him in the head, and the two headed down to sit in front of the fire.

* * *

That Saturday when Ron went to Professor McGonagall for the essays he needed to make up, she was very shocked to find Ron "fired" his tutor. But the shock quickly passed and was replaced by anger. She unwillingly handed the list over to him, along with two envelopes – one for him and the other for Hermione. As soon as he left her office, he tore open his letter, which told him he was required to be at a meeting with her the next day at one o'clock. It was a safe bet that Hermione's said the same.

So the next day Ron headed over to McGonagall's office. He wasn't surprised to find Hermione was already there. And of course, Umbridge was there to insult Ron. He forgot the _Headmistress_ had to be there for all student-teacher conferences. He sat down in the chair next to Hermione, who looked a bit pale. He refused a biscuit, and McGonagall went on with the lecture.

It first started off with Hermione's side of the story, which Ron was sure McGonagall had already heard. She went on and on about how Ron was always so rude to her. Blah, blah, blah. How he was selfish. Blah, blah, blah. How he didn't appreciate her. Blah, blah, blah. How he was constantly giving her trouble on purpose. Blah, blah, blah. Ron this, Ron that, and more blah, blah, blahing. The entire time Umbridge scribbled on her clipboard, recording Hermione's story of how he was basically a daft prat – only with bigger words. Ron had no intention to interrupt Hermione's story (mainly because it was a load of hippogriff shite), but he did, however, have to restrain from attacking Umbridge, setting her afire, and chucking that damn clipboard out the window.

"Mr. Weasley?" said McGonagall, pulling him out of numerous wonderful daydreams of the toad's death.

"Yeah?"

"I would like for you to tell me what you think the situation," said McGonagall.

"Well, firstly, may I ask why we're here? Normally you'd let us figure out our own problems."

"Well," said a falsely sweet voice behind him, "in case you, Mr. Weasley, did not know, Hogwarts has a new policy, and that is to help all of our students with their problems."

Ron knew he should shut up and not talk back to the _Headmistress_, but she was such a moron. "So basically, you're forcing yourselves to interfere in our personal lives? Even if we _really_ don't want you to?"

"Exactly," said Umbridge darkly. Ron turned back around and saw Hermione roll her eyes out of the corner of his own.

"Weasley, back to business. What's your take on the situation?" McGonagall asked in boredom.

"I think almost everything Granger said is bollocks," Ron said simply and slumped back in his chair. He really did not want to be here.

"Almost, Weasley? What did she say that _was _true?"

"I did give her a hard time sometimes, like that little rant right before we _went our own ways_. Yeah, that's true. I'm not selfish or disobedient or a troublemaker or unappreciative – well, actually, I am, but I'm not any of the other things. The fact of the matter is, Professor, I may have been those things to a _degree_, but she was acting insane. She was arrogant, bossy, curt, rude – no, just nasty and completely intolerable. I couldn't take her _abuse_ another second. She was implying that she was perfect and without _her_ I would be nothing."

Umbridge let out a loud snort and muttered, "_Implying_? I'd say it was a fact! That boy is beyond help." (Ron really had to restrain from hexing her to burp slugs and sew her mouth shut.)

"That's not true! Professor, I –"

"Ms. Granger, please let him speak," McGonagall interrupted and nodded at Ron to continue.

"The only reason I was 'disobedient' or 'troublemaking' was because I thought, _maybe, _if I tried to loosen her up a bit, she wouldn't be such an uptight control freak."

"Mr. Weasley," scolded Umbridge, "there will be no name calling in this room, do you understand me?"

"Me name calling?"

"_Do you understand me_?" she said again with more strength.

"Yeah," he said passively and let the fat cow continue with the dismemberment of all his vital body parts and limbs.

"As far as I know, Ms. Granger's _other_ pupils have never had a problem with her. Why would she act like this toward you?"

"She doesn't like me," Ron said obviously.

"I find that very hard to believe, Mr. Weasley. All tutors _must_ be fair to all of their students. Isn't that right, Ms. Granger? Of course it is! Ms. Granger is a magnificent student and much more responsible than you. I'm sorry to say, Mr. Weasley, but I believe that Ms. Granger is right about you. You are obviously very troublesome; as for selfish, I believe it's very selfish of you to make up such _awful_ lies about a fellow student," she said, feigning disappointment. "Not only will you receive a month's worth of detention, you will write an apology letter to Ms. Granger by next Wednesday – yours truly must approve it – and if Ms. Granger agrees, though I can't possibly understand _why_ she would, your sessions will be both reinstated and _mandatory_. Good day, Minerva, Mr. Weasley, and Ms. Granger."

"Wait, wait! I'm getting detention just because I cheesed Granger off, and she gets off free? I could say that her cat was an evil git, and I'd get a detention, but she could insult me ten times worse, and nothing happens?"

"It's not nice to call someone by their surname, Mr. Weasley. You lied to your teacher and Headmistress about Ms. Granger's behavior to get her in trouble, and that is why you are being punished."

'_Yeah, if I called you kind person, I wouldn't get a detention.'_

"This isn't fair! You have no idea what was going on! How do you know that she wasn't lying? You're not all-knowing! You're too busy getting paid off by the Minister and his cronies to care about what's going on here!"

_'Shite, shite, shite. I'm in so much trouble! I've got to keep my mouth bloody shut!'_

"Fifty – no, one hundred points from Gryffindor and two weeks more of detention! I will not tolerate defaming administration or students! How do I know what's going on, Mr. Weasley? Because I'm _Headmistress,_ and my word is law! If I choose to trust a good student over a worthless, rude, unappreciative troublemaker, then so be it! You have displayed that you are everything Ms. Granger said you are, and I will trust a member of _my_ squad over you! If I ever hear one more bad thing about you, then you'll be home before you can say _expelled_. Good DAY!" she exclaimed and slammed the door with her fat hand, sending the room shaking.

"Ms. Granger, you are excused. Mr. Weasley, sit down," said McGonagall, trying to maintain composure. Ron sat.

"Mr. Weasley, though I have to agree with everything you said, Dolores Umbridge is not a woman you want to trifle with. Your little outburst could cost your father his job, so I will tell you just what I told Mr. Potter. Tread carefully near her, and you will not be sorry."

"I'm sorry, Professor, but everything has been strange lately. I've just been losing my head with everyone. Weasley blood."

"Yes, I know, but that is no excuse for your outbursts. I see that you have been punished enough for one day, but remember that your hotheadedness may cost you more than a few points. However, that is not all what I wanted to talk to you about. I do not wish to get involved in student's personal affairs, for the reasons that I cannot make decisions based on my limited knowledge, and I do not want to know. Nevertheless, you are a brilliant student, Weasley. Your incredible jump in the quality of your work is wonderful, but I do think that your decision to discontinue your sessions with Ms. Granger is very unwise. You have been doing much better with your studies, and you've been staying out of trouble. You're growing up, and for that, I couldn't be prouder."

"But Pro –"

"Yes, Weasley, I know Ms. Granger can be a bit overbearing and assertive at times, but she has done a wonderful job at tutoring. You and her other students have shown wonderful progress. You have improved the most in the least amount of time, so she must be doing something right – even if she is very strict."

"Professor, you don't understand. I don't have a problem with the strictness – I got used to that because of you, no offense," he said quickly.

"None taken, Weasley."

"I really have tried getting along with her, but she refuses to. I was tired of wasting my time trying to get her to warm up to me. Besides, I know I can do the make-up work myself. You've seen my marks!" Ron exclaimed, and McGonagall sighed.

"Yes, Weasley, I have seen your marks, but what makes you think that you won't go back to your old ways? Nothing is pushing you, driving you, or did Ms. Granger spark something in your mind – perhaps you want to do well? If you can prove to me that you do not need a tutor for the next two weeks by turning in all of your regular homework and make-up work, I will repeal Umbridge's decision on mandatory tutoring. Deal?"

"That sounds fair."

"Nevertheless, I will tell you exactly what I told Ms. Granger. This feud between you and her has gone on for years, and frankly, we are all tired of your rows. But because the two of you insist on continuing this petty rivalry, I must intervene. Problems are not solely based on one person's actions. I told you to grow up and get along with people, so I will tell you again. You must get along with people you don't like. Even if she is not your tutor, I recommend you stop this. My advice is, if the situation comes up again, to look past your _solutions_ to the problem and just do what she says. She is your tutor, she is the boss, and that's the way it is. However, if you two cannot work it out, stay away from each other. The best way to avoid arguments is to avoid the problem.

"I know that you and Ms. Granger have problems, but I also know that she has been very good for you, and you her as well. Yes, you. I know that you are a kind soul, Weasley, and I was hoping that by putting you together, the kind, young soul would come out in her, too. Though she has yet to see it, she's always been a fast learner."

"So this was all a set up?" Ron asked incredulously.

"No, this was you needing help with school, her offering that help, and me knowing that you two would bring out hidden qualities in each other."

"How'd you know that? For all you know, we hate one another."

"When I'm at the front of the class, Weasley, I don't just see notes passed around or your work on transforming chairs to kittens," she said softly with a small smile. She almost sounded _maternal_. "You are dismissed."

* * *

_Ron headed out the Great Hall very quickly. What was going on? Everyone was hastily filing out. All were muttering, some looked terrified and the teachers headed past in a hurry. What was going on? He saw Percy at the front of the large group of Gryffindors. Percy? What was he doing there? Next to him stood Harry Potter, only not Harry Potter. He looked different. Younger – a whole hell of a lot younger! Ten? Eleven? He looked down at his own body and noticed he too was very young. His shoulders weren't as broad, his arms were tree twigs, and he was shorter than usual. Everyone around him seemed younger also. _'What is going on?'_ he wondered as they shoved their way through a horde of Hufflepuffs – déjà vu! Then Harry suddenly grabbed his arm._

_ "I've just thought – Hermione."_

_ "What about her?" Ron asked, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop it. What about Hermione? Where was she?_

_ "She doesn't know about the troll."_

'Troll? Troll? What the – the troll! This is what happened with the troll in first year. Right, got it!'_ he thought silently, as his eleven-year-old body continued on with the inevitable._

_ Ron bit his lip and pulled Harry with him to head to the tower, quickening their pace. He wanted to stop his body, but he couldn't. He was there in mind only, as a separate person. He couldn't change the past. This was a vision, not the real thing._

_ "We can't. Percy or someone'll catch us, and I've a hard enough time with him. Hermione'll be fine. The troll is in the dungeon, remember? She's in the toilet."_

_ "I still think we should help her," said Harry, and Ron's sixteen-year-old mind agreed with him, but the eleven-year-old one didn't._

_ "Harry, she'll be fine; the teachers are probably halfway there right now. It's not suddenly going to run all the way up here just to go in the girl's toilets. Now, c'mon, faster. We can tell Percy; he's a prefect; he can help her."_

_ "No, Ron, I really think we should help her. Percy has to go all the way to the tower and then back down. Trolls can walk, even if they are stupid."_

'That's about the only thing they _can_ do,' _Ron thought._

_ "That's about the only thing they _can_ do," Ron said, but Harry gave him a pointed look. "Fine, but Percy can't see us, got it?"_

_ "Yeah, let's go."_

_ The two of them ran in the opposite direction. The other students didn't care; they were too panicked. When a large mountain troll is in the school, people tend to forget about anyone but themselves because their minds are clouded with fear._

_ As the stairs behind them changed, they quietly slipped into a deserted corridor, which Ron noticed was the third floor corridor on the left-hand side. They turned the corridor and ran right into Professor Quirrell. _'Rotten piece of rat shite,'_ Ron thought._

_ "Professor! I'm glad we found you! Hermione Granger doesn't know about the troll, and she's in the girls' toilets by the Great Hall! We've got to help her!" said Harry, but Quirrell wasn't paying attention. He was looking over them toward the corridor on the right-hand side._

_ "Quirrell, I believe that – Potter? Weasley? What are you two doing here?" said a cold voice behind their stuttering professor. The boys looked past him to face Snape. Neither could speak._

_ "Well?" he asked again, less patient this time, as he stood over them menacingly._

'How could anyone answer him when he looked like he would kill them if they said a word?' _Ron thought bitterly. Even if he wasn't evil, he was still a slimy git._

_ "Well, sir, Hermione Granger was in the toilet when we found out about the troll. She's still there, sir," said Ron, and Snape glared at Quirrell._

_ "Well, Quirrell, I suppose we are needed elsewhere. You two get up to your dormitories now, before I take away points. Let's go," quipped Snape, and he brushed past them._

_ Harry and Ron didn't think twice before running up to their dormitories as Snape ordered. Eleven-year-old Ron couldn't help but question why Snape and Quirrell were on the third floor, when they should have been in the dungeons._

_ Hermione never came up that night, and despite their dislike of the girl, Harry and Ron wondered why she didn't._

_ The next day, breakfast wasn't any different. She sat alone, with a small splint around her wrist, while Ron and Harry talked about what happened with the troll. It wasn't until after breakfast they found out the troll was definitely not in the dungeons, but in the girl's toilets, and Hermione Granger was the luckiest girl on the face of the earth._

Ron sat up in bed and went over the dream in his head. What just happened? Was that what happened in first year with the troll, or was his subconscious making up stories in his head? It all felt very real – so vivid. No dream he ever had felt so vivid or even the least bit reasonable. It did make sense – sort of. There was something about it all that felt very important, but he couldn't place what. Ron's eyes felt droopy, and he quickly fell back asleep, forgetting all about trolls the next morning.

* * *

The next week, Ron was on his fifth apology letter to Hermione. Every one he wrote wasn't good enough for the toad. She obviously wanted to kill him from writing them. It was either, "This word doesn't sound right," or, "You misspelled this word," or, "This doesn't look _at all_ neat." He swore that not only was she out to get him, but she wanted him to surrender himself as Hermione's servant until the both of them died.

He sat with Harry in the library, taking a break from calling himself a daft prat – only with bigger words – to work on a Potions' essay. Between detentions every night and rewriting those stupid letters, he found very little time for homework and no time to talk with Harry. Ron felt bad about Harry, since Harry already felt awful, but he couldn't do anything.

But tonight he finally got a break. Hart punished him to work on his homework for the night, and Ron could've kissed her. He wasn't sure if Hart did that to spite Umbridge or help him, but either way she was a great teacher.

Ron excused himself for a moment to walk around and clear his mind and the strain in his wrist. He headed for the section on dragons and picked up an enormous, fairly new book about the uses of dragon blood in potions and what potions they were used in.

On his way back, he saw Hermione putting some books back on the shelves. He looked at the pile next to him and picked the top one up. The Complete Works of William Shakespeare. Wasn't he that bloke who wrote Roman and Julia?

"He's very good, but a bit hard to read. All his works are plays, so they're all dialogue, but the poetry is beautiful," said Hermione from down the aisle, still organizing her books. She wasn't looking at him; Ron was sure if she saw who he was, she wouldn't have even looked at him. "Not many wizards have read – or even heard of – Shakespeare, but he's a genius."

"Thanks," Ron said simply, and she looked over at him, obviously recognizing his voice.

"You're welcome," she said curtly. "Though, I do believe that the reader of that book would have to be highly sensitive and intelligent. May I recommend another book? Perhaps Martin Miggs is more your speed."

"Thanks, but I think I'll stick with this," Ron snapped, and she huffed haughtily before going back to her work. He watched her for a few moments, while she remained completely unaware of his stare.

"First you're an obnoxious git, then your daft, next you're insane, and now you're a stalker. I really think I should report this to the _Headmistress_," said a snobby voice behind him. Ron turned and found exactly who he thought would stand there. Draco Malfoy was smirking at him and staring at him right in the eye.

"Why don't you just shove off, Malfoy? I'd rather be a stalker than a daddy's boy. Strange, I thought there were only daddy's girls, but I suppose it doesn't make a difference with _you,_ does it?"

"Watch your mouth, Weasley. At least I have money."

"At least the money we have isn't used to pay off the Minister and support the Dark Lord. Money like that doesn't belong to you; it belongs to evil."

"I said watch – your – mouth!"

"What? Can't handle the truth, Malfoy? You're on the losing side of the war, and you know it."

"I know that while your family is out trying to protect the rest of the world, I'll be sitting at home, safe and sound. You think what you want, but who do you think ultimately loses? Your family is too weak to stand up to him, and one by one they'll all die. Just like your poor, ickle sister," he drawled and took the book from Ron's hands.

"Shut up," Ron said in a deathly calm.

"Hit a nerve, did I?" he asked with a malicious laugh in his voice. "Your energy will be wasted. The Dark Lord will rise, and not only will your family and friends be killed from his power, but you will as well."

At this point, Ron forgot words and tried to attack Malfoy, but someone kept him off. Malfoy laughed nastily and smiled at him. Ron tried to get away from the person, but she continued to calm him down. When the ringing stopped and his blood pressure lowered, Hermione walked from behind him and snatched the book away from Malfoy.

"Weasley, Draco, stop this fighting. I heard every single bit, and I'll ask you both to please be quiet or leave, or I'll report to the Headmistress," said Hermione strictly and walked away.

"Isn't this nice?" said Malfoy with sadistic amusement. "The Mudblood is standing up for the Weasel. Got a _woman_ fighting your battles now, Weasley?"

"Five points from Slytherin," Hermione quipped, spinning around. "Draco, please gather your things and leave the library."

"I don't have to listen to a damn thing you say, Mudblood."

"Ten points," she said. "Now leave."  
"You think you can just order me around, Granger? I'm part of the Inquisitorial Squad, and I'm a prefect."

"I'm all that _and_ part of the Student Library Staff, so I'll ask you to leave. This is a library, not a men's toilet. Now get out."

"You got lucky, Weasley," Malfoy spat and left.

"_You_, you've got some brass!" she whispered angrily. "You should not be attacking a fellow student, so ten points from Gryffindor. By the way, what are you doing here? Don't you have detention?"

"This is my detention – doing homework."

"Then I suppose I can't kick you out. But don't cause any more ruckuses. Got it?"

"You didn't need to do that for me."

"I didn't do anything for you! I was punishing him. He thinks just because his father is important and he's a pureblood, he can walk around the school as if he owns the place. _You,_ on the other hand, need to learn some self-control. I won't give you a detention now, but watch yourself. Got it?" she asked, putting her hands on her hips.

"Whatever. Thanks for the book," Ron muttered exasperatedly and walked away.

"Oh, Weasley? I got this list from McGonagall. It's every essay and spell you need to make up. Since you no longer have a tutor, you must show that you can perform the spell to the teacher. As you can see, there are only about thirty more assignments on there, so about one a day."

"So I'm guessing this means you don't give a rat's arse about tutoring me anymore, right?" Ron asked hopefully.

"If you're going to be an obnoxious git, then no," she spat and walked away. Ron headed back to his seat with both the books. Maybe he would actually read over holiday.

* * *

The next few weeks passed as slowly as a dead fish in a standstill river. Every day felt like ten. Homework was piling up on him; detentions were getting worse (Filch had to be in on it, he just had to be); classes were no picnic either because Hermione purposely gave him a hard time. Apparently, she still saw herself as his tutor, therefore the boss. Or she just wanted to punish him for being an "obnoxious git." Ron really wanted to hit his head on something hard, in hopes he would wake up and this was all an awful dream. But every day he awoke to the same. It wasn't a dream, and this really was his hellhole life.

As the days dragged on, Ron's desire to be back home with his family, the _real_ Harry, and especially the _real_ Hermione, increased. He constantly wondered what they were doing at that moment or what it was like over there or even if anything was going on at all. Surely if time was moving here, it was over there. Then an overwhelming dread flowed in him. What if the Ron from this world completely mucked everything up? But his own situation somewhat comforted him. He didn't muck this life up – too much – or at least he didn't _think_ so.

What did it matter anyway? He was stuck here. He had absolutely no idea how to get home or where to start. It wasn't as if he could just go up to someone, tell them his situation, and ask them what to do. No way. He'd be in St. Fairy's Wizarding Sanitarium before he could tell them he wasn't crazy. He also highly doubted there was some book on the subject in the library. Nope, he was a Beater without a bat – basically, the situation was hopeless.

Every day seemed worse than the next. He and Hermione constantly got into rows. So many, in fact, there was hardly a day without one. Day in and day out, all they did was argue. After class one day, he heard Terry Boot comment, "At least they're acting _normal_." After that, it was safe to assume this was their relationship.

_ "You're putting in too many beetle hearts, Weasley."_

_ "No, we're not."_

_ "Yes, you are!"_

_ "No, we're not. We're the ones making the potion, not you. Get your big nose out of other people's business, Granger."_

_ "Excuse me! I was just trying to help!"_

_ "Who said we needed it? Shove off."_

_ "Well, if you're going to be so rude, I won't even tell you."_

_ "Tell us what?"_

_ "Never mind."_

_ "You're intolerable! Fine, we don't need your help."_

_ "Suit yourself."_

_ "It's suited."_

_ "I just won't help you anymore."_

_ "Thank Merlin."_

_ "Potter, you're putting in too much Iodolph root juice."_

_ "I thought you weren't going to help us."_

_ "Yes, Weasley, but if you don't put in –"_

_ "That's considered helping us, Granger. Mind your own business."_

_ "Fine, let it explode in your faces; I don't care."_

_ "What happens if it explodes?"_

_ "I thought you didn't want my help."_

_ "You seemed so eager before, _Granger_."_

_ "Yes, but you don't care, _Weasley_."_

_ "You're right, I don't. So just keep your own eyes on your _own_ potion."_

_ "WAIT, NO! STOP! AHHHHHHH!"_

_ "AHHHHHH!"_

_ "What's going on in here? Weasley! Potter! DETENTION and clean this mess up!"_

_ "I told you it would explode, Weasley."_

_ "Shut up, Granger."_

_ "I told you it would, and you didn't listen to me; now you made a mess of things. Blah, blah, blah. You don't listen to anybody! Blah, blah, blah. You're such a stubborn git. Blah, blah, blah. You're an idiot. Blah, blah, blah. What if my potion is ruined? Blah, blah, blah. You never think of anyone but yourself. Blah, blah, blah. This is your entire fault, you know. Blah, blah, blah."_

_ "Granger, do us all a favor and shut up before somebody charges you for abusing the use of your mouth."_

Yep, that's what it was like. Every. Bloody. Day. Whether it was Transfiguration or Charms or even Defense, she would sit there and chide and criticize. Soon the whole room wanted to fling her out the window or drown her in their potion or put a feather above her head and transfigure it into an elephant so it squished her – well, perhaps those weren't the fantasies of his classmates, but _he_ sure as hell liked them.

He had to give his best friend some credit, though. Sitting there through their bickering probably took a lot of patience. Damn surprising his and Hermione's throats weren't slit through the night from some disgruntled student – or even teacher.

Apparently, the fates decided to make his life a living bloody hell – and they were doing a good job too.

But that was over now. It was Christmas holiday, and he finally got some time to play chess with Harry, and fly his broom (he didn't care _how_ cold it was), and relax, preferably leading to sleep and more relaxation and never any chores.

Slowly the built up fatigue overtook him, and he fell into yet another dream.

_Ron looked around him and at Harry. Harry was playing the wooden flute Hagrid gave him his first year. He pointed to Ron, then to the hole next to him. Ron looked down into black emptiness. His sixteen-year-old self reminded him just what was down there, but the eleven-year-old one remained oblivious._

_ "It's really dark; you can't see anything. Want me to go first?" Harry nodded and motioned for Ron to do something. He didn't understand just what Harry was trying to say, until he pulled out his wand and muttered "_Lumos!_" Thankfully, the dog didn't wake up long enough to rip their bodies apart with their gigantic teeth._

_ Ron did the same to his wand and stuck it down the trapdoor hole. "No, I still can't see anything. I'll just go, and you go after me, all right?"_

_ Harry nodded, and Ron gathered his courage before jumping into the hole. He landed on something moist and soft, almost squishy. He grabbed his wand and moved out of the way._

_ "It's all right; it's a soft landing! C'mon!" he exclaimed, just as something brushed against his leg._

_ A moment later, Harry landed near Ron's landing point. He stood up and walked over to Ron. He tried standing up, but the vines of the Devil's Snare was already tightly wrapped around his ankles and left wrist._

_ "C'mon, Ron, Snape's getting away!"_

_ "I – can't – move! Harry, help!" Ron cried as a vine attempted to wrap itself around his neck. Ron dropped his wand and tried to pull it off him. Harry tried to help, keeping his wand in his hand instead of putting it away. And as the light touched the vine, it withdrew from Ron's neck._

_ "Ron! It doesn't like the light! Quick, grab your wand!" Harry exclaimed and put the light to the vines on Ron's other wrist. The two of them teamed up, and after what felt like forever, they finally got away._

_ "Blimey! I thought we'd never get out of there. What do you think that was, anyway?"_

_ "I don't want to know; let's go. Snape's probably got the stone by now," Harry said, pulling Ron by the arm into a stone passageway. They walked along until they heard fluttering._

_ "Do you hear something?" Ron whispered. They walked ahead a bit, and Ron said, "Do you think it's a ghost?"_

_ "I don't know . . . sounds like wings."_

_ "There's a light ahead – I can see something moving."_

_ When they reached the end of the passageway, sixteen-year-old Ron, wasn't the least bit surprised. There were hundreds of keys flying above their heads in a magnificent chamber. It'd been so long since he saw this, and he hoped that even without Hermione, they were smart enough to figure it out._

_ "Do you think they'll attack us if we cross the room?" Ron whispered to Harry, not taking his eyes from the sight above him._

_ "Probably," said Harry. "They don't look very vicious, but I suppose if they all swooped down at once . . . well, there's no other choice . . . I'll run." Right after he said it, Harry ran through the room, preparing for the worst, but nothing happened. They still fluttered about. Eleven-year-old Ron walked over to Harry, silently wondering what kind of birds they were. They didn't look like birds._

_ The two of them tugged at the large, wooden door leading to the chess room. Ron quickly tried the Alohomora charm, but it didn't work._

_ "Now what?" Ron said._

_ "Ron, these birds look strange, don't they?" said Harry, staring at them. "Why do you think they're here?"_

_ Sixteen-year-old Ron silently smacked his head. They were _idiots_. "I dunno," said younger Ron._

_ "Wait a tick! Those aren't birds, Ron; they're keys! Winged keys – look carefully. So that must mean . . ." Harry looked around the chamber while Ron studied the keys above his head. ". . . yes – look! Broomsticks! We've got to catch the key to the door! But which one? There are hundreds of them."_

_ Ron examined the lock on the door. "We're looking for a big, old fashioned one – probably silver, like the handle."_

_ They both seized a broomstick and kicked off into the air. Older Ron silently thanked Merlin for Quidditch. Even if it couldn't help him here, nothing could be worse than his flying skills when he was eleven. He didn't have a hard time with balance, but the damn thing didn't want to be steered. Plus the stupid things didn't give a damn that they were there. They kept fluttering along, poking him in the sides, slapping him in the face and even falling down his shirt._

_ "Ron, it's right there! See it? That big one right there with the bright blue wings and the feather's crumpled on one side."_

_ Ron sped toward it, crashed into the ceiling, and nearly fell off his broom. He quickly regained his balance and flew for it._

_ "Ron, you go at it from above, I'll go below, got it?" Ron dived at the key, barely missing it, but Harry managed to hold onto the little bugger. Ron cheered, and they landed. Ron opened the door, and they walked into a dead black chamber; they stepped forward into the chess room. Everything played out as it did five years ago – only this time, there were both castles, instead of just one._

_ The time of inevitability came, and sixteen-year-old Ron wondered what would it feel like? Would it be that awful pain again? You weren't supposed to get hurt in dreams, but bloody hell those damn keys hurt. He was so lost in his thoughts he didn't even realize he said anything until his feet started moving. Ron prepared himself for a hard blow as the white queen moved to strike. She hit him across the face, but Ron felt nothing. The queen's hand went right through his body! He looked behind him and saw his body on the ground, looking very much dead. He turned when he heard the loud crash of the white king's crown as it fell to Harry's feet. Harry looked at his younger body desperately but continued on._

'Oh, thanks a lot, Harry, just leave me here!' _Ron thought angrily and followed him. In the next room laid a troll, all bloodied up. The stench was awful, and he covered his mouth along with his younger comrade._

_ He walked into the next room with Harry, purple fire sprouted up behind them and a black one in front. A table with seven potion bottles and a piece of parchment. Harry read the contents out loud. It was a puzzle. Damn Snape. Harry sat there for a while, trying to figure out which potion was which. It took a while for Ron to figure out, but he did. He wished he could tell Harry that the small one WITH NOTHING IN IT was the right one, but it was pretty obvious. If Quirrell had already gone through, then the EMPTY one with would be correct. But Harry sat there, trying to figure things out._

'We were bloody imbeciles,'_ Ron thought and hit his head against a wall. Even though it didn't hurt, it made him feel better about his friend's stupidity._

_ Suddenly, he felt a tug at his head, as if someone were pulling his hair. He felt himself being sucked through the other rooms toward the chess room and his body, which his best mate just left without a damn care!_

_ He opened his eyes and blinked around a bit. Oh, NOW he felt pain. His head was pounding, and younger Ron was going over the events of the past few hours in his head. Harry – with Snape and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Harry! He quickly sat up and ran for an exit, any at all. He ran for the key room, stole a broom, and flew up to the hole. He sang a song his mum used to sing to lull the dog to sleep and flew out._

_ He ran through the corridors toward the common room. He took some paper and a quill out, scribbled a note, and headed for the owlery, thankfully avoiding Filch or any other teacher. He sent it off with Hedwig; the younger Ron wondered what became of his best friend. Ron guessed he was either talking to Quirrell right now or still stuck in the fire room. Ron guessed the room, because his friend was completely daft._

_ All around him, everything went dark._

He slowly came around, blinking the sleep out of his eyes.

"Hiya, Ron, sleep well?" Harry asked as he played checkers with Neville.

"Hi, Ron. We're about halfway there."

"Right, thanks, Neville. Who's winning?"

"I am," said Harry.

"I'm no good at checkers, but it passes the time. How about we call it a game? Or better yet, you take my place, Ron. I want to go talk to someone before we arrive."

"Got a girl, Nev?" Ron joked and moved a piece forward. Neville blushed but didn't say a word before he left their cabin.

He and Harry played chess and Snap until Ron decided to go change into Muggle clothes. He grabbed a jumper and some trousers to change and headed to the loo.

He thought about the dream. That had to have been another thing that happened, just like the troll. He looked down at his trousers, which were an ugly gray color, and something flashed in his head. An image of the troll on the ground, knocked out. He quickly changed, thinking about what all of this meant. It really felt like something important, but what? What was it? It was on the tip of his tongue – or rather, his mind, but was still there.

He looked down at his school uniform, glad to be putting it away, when another image flashed in his mind. Hermione was standing next to the sinks, telling their professors her story.

_"I went looking for the troll because I – I thought I could deal with it on my own – you know, because I've read all about them."_

A lie. She told a lie to a teacher just to get them out of trouble. Ron dropped his wand on the ground. He closed his eyes and saw her. She stood across from him as they all waited in an embarrassed silence. They said "Thanks" to each other and went for food.

The image of him and Harry talking and eating with the rest of the common room flashed – no Hermione.

And as if someone poked him in the head and shouted it in his ear, everything made sense. It was so simple; he couldn't believe he didn't figure it out sooner. This life was a life without Hermione.

*~*~*~*~*

Dundundun! The secret is REVEALED!!! MWAHAHAHA!

I know you all pretty much figured it out from the get go, but hey, this is MY story, I can make Ron an idiot if I please. :P

I hope you liked this chapter, and I hope it was out soon enough for you. :D I had fun making it. I told you all that you would find out what happened in the past, and I kept my promise. There was a lot of repeated stuff in here, like Malfoy and McGonagall, but it was necessary. So here we are. After the next chapter (the chapter over Christmas holiday), the plot will start going more toward the romance. Like I said, the story has been at a standstill, but now he's going to figure out a lot of stuff.

As for the romance, I need to fine-tune it a bit, so it's more than _just_ romance. But I do have plans for it. I promise ;)

Thank you to all my reviewers and especially an anonymous reviewer who pointed out a problem with my plot, when I failed to say if Ron even WANTED to go back. I put that in my story for others who have wondered as well. Thank you, anonymous reviewer.

Thanks you my beta, Liberty, who has helped me so much. 3

Olivia Frost 0:-D

P.S. I currently have chapter nine done and posted at another site. I do tend to update sooner at checkmated.com. If you want my current progress with my stories and other things, I now have an L/J at it out!


	9. Chapter 9: Ginny Riddle

*~*~*~*~*

The Troll

By AngelicAshley

Chapter 9: Ginny Riddle

*~*~*~*~*

Ron slammed his trunk shut and lugged it out of the train. He was looking forward to seeing his family again. He missed Bill's jokes, the twins' pranks, his mum's food – everything. He understood his family was busy with the Order. Even last year was hectic, but the past few months felt like years, and he only wanted to spend time with them again and relax. Maybe You-Know-Who went public before he arrived? If so, his family could be quieting down – less suspicion and anxiety, perhaps? No, that was ridiculous. They were at war, and You-Know-Who didn't work himself into other people's lives – he forced himself in.

Ron looked around for any trace of the infamous red hair, but the crowd was too thick, and height didn't give him any advantage.

"Dear, where do you suppose Hermione is? She said she'd be in the seventh car, but I haven't seen her. You don't suppose she missed the train, do you?"

"Don't fret, darling; I'm sure she's just caught up in the hustle and bustle. She's fine," said a gray-haired, balding Mr. Granger and rubbed the back of his wife.

"Martin, I can't help worrying! After she told us about that _club thing_ of hers this summer –"said Mrs. Granger, a short, bushy-haired woman with auburn hair.

"Helen, dear, we can't discuss this now," Mr. Granger whispered shiftily.

"Oh, of course, I must've forgotten," she replied, and Ron turned away from their conversation. What did Mrs. Granger mean by her _club_? Hermione didn't have a club. It was obviously important and secret, or Mr. Granger wouldn't have got so out of sorts. Hermione having a top-secret club? The thought was ridiculous.

_'Are you stupid, or did your brain turn into mush over the night and spill out of your head? It would explain the liquid in your b – never mind. Think! Hermione and the D.A. last year? That was a _secret organization,_ and it was _important_! Actually, your brains melted, but then solidified again into rocks. You have rocks for brains. Stone head.'_

"Ron! Harry! Over here, dears!" called Ron's mother over the noise, and the two made their way across the concentrated platform. As he walked closer, anticipation built in his stomach. Though he complained about it, there was no place like home.

However, when he finally caught sight of his family, the anticipation turned to disappointment. Only Moody and his mum greeted them. He was daft for thinking things would be better. This world was nothing but trouble.

"Hiya, Mum," Ron said softly, and she pulled him into a gigantic hug. She fussed over him and Harry, asked about school, and talked a very small bit of home. Obviously, nothing important could be disclosed in public. They hopped over to the street and waved a Muggle taxicab over. As Harry packed his things away, a woman commented on such a lovely owl – Hedwig. She asked her "dear" if she knew those boys from school. Ron glanced over, and the driver closed the boot.

"Do you know those boys, Hermione?" asked Mrs. Granger.

"No, Mum," Hermione replied shyly. Her father smiled.

"They're rather handsome; wouldn't you agree, dear?"

"Mum!" Hermione groaned and blushed furiously (as did Ron's ears). Her father grunted. The thought of Hermione getting a boyfriend and looking at boys displeased her father – and Ron for that matter.

"Ron, dear, are you ready?"

"Hmm? Oh, yeah," he answered distractedly and climbed into the back. He watched Hermione one last time before they sped off and found her staring at them with sadness.

When they arrived home, it was very late, so his mum sent them to bed, saying they would see everyone in the morning. Before his head even hit the pillows, Ron fell asleep.

As soon as Ron awoke the next morning, he felt the air of the Burrow had changed dramatically since he'd last been there. Breakfast passed in silence, but all meals following, he discovered that was one of the few times everyone sat at the table together. Most days consisted of no more than five people, Harry and himself included.

The days were all snowball fights, chess, and Quidditch for an hour or two if the weather permitted. Though, no matter what they did, somebody was always there to watch. If they went outside, an Order member followed. If they played chess, somebody stood guard. In fact, the only time he had alone was in the loo. It wasn't all bad, though. When Fred and George were on watch or had a day off, they always made his home feel more like home and less like prison. Perhaps it was the absence of loud explosions muffled behind locked doors, or the silence of the stairs and the tremors when people ran down them, or the lack of _any_ human beings and the sound that came from their mouths – better known as _talking_ – that made the house so unnerving. He wished the house would go back to when he was younger – everything made sense then.

When his family did come in for the night, it was rarely before midnight, and when they did arrive during normal waking hours, it was still quiet. Then one night, Ron finally understood _why_ his house had suddenly become a death chamber. If a fork dropped or the clock chimed – if someone Apparated in or out, or a mysterious shadow moved outside – if an unknown hand touched another unsuspecting one, or a door slammed from behind, the whole house jumped with it. Everyone seemed, well, paranoid was too weak of a word, perhaps insane-with-fear-and-expecting-an-evil-giant-spider-with-ten-thousand-legs-and-an-ability-to-shoot-purple-poisonsous-goo-to-attack-them-if-they-made-a-bloody-SOUND-surrounded-by-winking-Lockharts-blahing-them-to-insanity-then-dying-an-extremely-painful-death-next-to-an-old-man-who-smelled-like-decaying-wet-dog was more fitting. Moody had a bad effect on his family's brains, because now everyone was constantly vigilant. Look at what had happened to him!

However, the insanely vigilant behavior of his family wasn't the first thing he noticed. The day after his arrival, Ron's eyes caught a floating stick on the windowsill, glowing a faint, sky blue. The object tweaked his curiosity, but upon closer inspection, it only did two things: floated and glowed. The object, having no apparent use, felt strange – almost dangerous and forbidding.

Holiday passed uneventfully, and it was two days 'till Christmas. He headed to bed the night before Christmas Eve after a long day. When he passed the mysterious, glowing stick, the color changed from sky blue to a brilliant indigo. Part of him wanted to tell someone, but everyone was getting their much deserved rest, which sounded absolutely wonderful. He slept through the night, unconcerned with the stick.

"Ron, Ron, wake up!" Fred whispered and shook Ron awake. Ron sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He saw Harry and George grabbing some of his clothes.

"What the hell are you doing?" he yelled and jumped over to them, but he didn't get an answer because they pushed him downstairs, ordering him to put on the extra clothes. As they got closer to the landing, he could hear a loud siren, flashing red. When they reached the living room, Ron's eyes bugged out. His father stood there, holding open a trapdoor.

"Come on, boys! HURRY! They could be here any moment!"

George shoved into Ron's back, pushing him forward. "Go, Ron!"

Ron climbed into the dark hole and quickly pulled on a second pair of trousers. The room smelled like decay, and it made him nauseous. Perhaps it was the close proximity of everyone in the cramped space that made him uncomfortable. Or even both. The hole was only big enough to hold eight people and only tall enough to allow crawling room. It was curious, however, that the walls and floor were only dirt, probably held with a support spell. He could see roots sticking out the damp soil. The small room was dark, damp, and dirty, but he was there, and there wasn't a choice in the matter. That siren didn't sound good – dangerous. He couldn't explain it, but he felt safer in the small hole than in his own home. He only wished the room was warmer; it was bloody cold!

Bill and Charlie were already there, trying to comfort his mum. His dad climbed down after the twins, muttered "_Domus__ provectus_," and sealed the trapdoor, leaving them in maddening black. Everyone placed silencing spells on the room, themselves, Ron, and Harry, then sat for what felt like hours. They were waiting for something, but what?

When what finally came, Ron couldn't have been less prepared, though a part of him wasn't surprised. What else would it have been? The front door opened with a loud bang, and several pairs of feet marched in above their heads. Death Eaters.

"Search this house from top to bottom! Leave no corner unchecked, no door unopened, no bed unturned! They _are_ here, and we _will_ find them!" ordered a deep, male voice. The ceiling shook as the people ran to search the Burrow.

"Lestrange, there's no one here! Look at the state of this place; nobody's been here for months," said a girl, this time over the siren.

"WHAT THE HELL IS THAT? TURN IT OFF! That is impossible! We've tracked their moves for weeks, damn it! They have to be here. Where else would they be? TURN IT OFF, YOU BLOODY IDIOTS!"

"Rodolphus, look," said the voice of Bellatrix Lestrange. The siren rang louder. Red streaks flashed in their hideout from gaps between the boards. Ron could only guess she was holding the glowing stick. "A Breach Detector, dear. They could have detected us weeks ago."

"FUCK! I hate these bloody things!" he bellowed and affirmed Ron's suspicions when Lestrange snapped the stick in half, silencing the mind-splitting siren and covering them in the dark again.

"Clear out, everyone! Nobody's here!" shouted Bellatrix, and Ron heard footsteps coming down the stairs.

"Don't be so hasty, Bella. Karr, are there Hogwarts trunks upstairs?" asked the cold voice of Lucius Malfoy.

"I didn't notice if there were, sir," said a younger woman.

"You did not think to check?" drawled Malfoy. "_Crucio_! Aundurn, go check for Hogwarts trunks." A younger man agreed and ran upstairs.

Ron was torn between the fear of being caught, tortured slowly until death, and hatred for those bloody bastards. Fear decided to take over. It filled his blood and chilled it to the bone when he heard the girl's shrieks of pain. He had never heard the curse before and regretted ever wondering. Those screams would haunt him forever, even if they did belong to a Death Eater.

When Malfoy finally released the curse, Ron sighed a silent breath. Only then did he realize how heavily he was breathing.

"Trunks, Lucius?" asked an unfamiliar voice.

"If they have been gone for months as it appears, then there won't be any trunks, for they wouldn't have even entered the house if they knew we were coming. Besides, if they suspected us in any way, there would be Aurors out searching in minutes," drawled Malfoy, and the messenger returned.

Ron felt his heart beating faster. _'Please let them not be found. Please let them be hidden. Please, please, please.'_

"There are two trunks, sir," reported the Death Eater.

Ron's stomach dropped. His dad rubbed his eyes, and his head fell against the dirt wall. His mum tried to stop herself from crying. Everyone was pale and peaky.

Malfoy laughed coldly and walked right on top of the trapdoor. Ron's breathing stopped, his blood froze in its place, and he gripped his cloak tightly, his eyes never straying from the barrier between life and death.

"As I expected from those foolish Weasleys – an aging spell and a well placed hideout. Continue with your search! The ceiling, walls, floors, that mess of a garden – SEARCH EVERYWHERE!" commanded Lestrange, and the house became active again. Ron's wish was granted; the house was no longer as silent as death.

As the house above them exploded with the noise of destruction, the cramped room remained silent for hours. The Death Eaters did exactly as Lestrange ordered them. From the sounds of it, they left nothing unchecked. They shouted in anger and frustration, followed by a crash of a possession; whether it was a chair, a plate, or their clock, every possession they ever owned was broken – and Ron was sure half of it wasn't part of the "Weasley Search." They heard several men pass by, casting unlocking and unsealing charms. Ron could only hope their charm was unbreakable and the Death Eaters were too stupid to find it.

Hours later, Ron sat up from his rest. Sleep was unobtainable, and peace was impossible. Nobody slept that night; their minds wouldn't allow it. They had to be ready if they were found. His fear of being caught subsided after a while of continuous search and became paranoia – defiance – pride. They hadn't found them, and if it continued, they wouldn't. That constant vigilance wasn't as bad as he'd first thought. And if that door ever opened, anger would fuel him to protect his family, to stand up and defend himself. The brave, stupid part of him admonished his cowardice – just letting Death Eaters go through his house as if they owned it. However, the smart side told him if he stayed out there, he wouldn't protect anything – he'd be dead. The smart part of him punched out the stupid part, and Ron stayed exactly where he was, praying that door would not open.

Waiting.

For what, though? For the Death Eaters to find and kill them, for the Death Eaters to leave so they could leave this rat hole, or would they continue waiting? They would wait – wait for a solution, a peace of mind, a safety. Wait for change.

"Sir," started the young woman who was Crucioed. Everyone in the hole sat up, despite the protests of their sore muscles, and listened intently. "We haven't found them, and we've been searching for hours. They don't appear to be here."

"Very well; we will depart," said Lucius monotonously. He didn't sound disappointed, as if this whole raid wasn't to find them. But why else would they raid their house and try to kill them? "Death Eaters! Dismissed! Go!"

And with those four words, they all Disapparated with several loud pops. Ron finally fell into a sleep. The Death Eaters were gone, the house was silent, and his body couldn't bear to hold onto consciousness any longer. When he awoke several hours later from a horrible nightmare, he saw a small streak of light on his father's face, indicating it was midday. He sat up in silence and noticed his other family was sleeping as well, besides Bill, who took watch.

Bill smiled at him tiredly, and Ron stretched as far as he could without pushing into the ceiling. Slowly everyone awoke from their nightmares, and they still waited to leave. Finally, everyone seemed at ease, and they (those who knew what the hell was going on) silently agreed it was safe. His father took out a small vial filled with a thick, gritty, red liquid and gulped it down like a shot of liquor. He cleared his throat and coughed. It was a wonderful sound for sore ears, for the silence had passed – along with the danger.

"Are you all okay?" he croaked, and they all nodded. "We don't know if they're still watching the house or not, but we can't stay in his hole forever. Bill, you come with me. We're going to get Harry and Ron out through the Floo. Molly, Charlie, Fred, George, you will all Apparate to Headquarters. Right? _Finte__ Incantaum!_"

They all coughed and cleared their sore throats. A silencing spell took its toll on one's vocal chords. They all stretched as much as possible, while his parents fought about his mum coming along. In the end, his dad won.

"Dad, I thought we disconnected the Floo," Ron said confusedly.

"We have an emergency connection with a safety ward. Brandt set it up for us." Ron didn't even need to wonder who Brandt was – probably someone who worked with the Floo Network and the Order.

"Why didn't they break through that?" Fred whispered.

"We put a separate spell on the fireplace. They couldn't break through both without an alarm going off. No more talking. Even the strongest silencing spells can be broken," said his dad and motioned for everyone to take their places. Charlie, the twins, and his mum all Disapparated while his dad popped out the trapdoor. Arthur closed it behind him, and they waited for any Death Eaters before he knocked, signaling it was clear. They jumped out one by one and immediately crawled to the fireplace; it wasn't safe to stand and risk being seen through windows.

Ron was baffled at the state of his home. The hours of searching really did destroy everything they ever owned. All their possessions had been flung aside and now lay spewed about on the floor. Drawers and their contents were spilled out, cupboards were emptied, and furniture was pushed over, broken, and even smashed into the walls. The clock – their clock – was face down on the floor, with holes where people stepped through the wood. Shards of glass were everywhere, and some particularly small pieces found their home in his hands. Pages torn from their books littered the mess, but provided a shield from the glass particles. There were holes in the walls from feet and furniture, some doors were blown off their hinges, and a brief glimpse outside said the devastation was not just in the kitchen. The grass was ripped up, the flowerbeds torn through, and they even took it upon themselves to search the pond because dead frog corpses scattered the lawn. All the windows were smashed in, and even the sink faucet was broken off and turned on full blast, so it sprayed water all over the place. If this was just the kitchen, he didn't want to know what the rest of the house was like.

"Ron, you first," said his dad and threw the powder into the grate.

He crawled over and said, "Order of the Grim – Ronald Weasley."

Ron flew up the chimney and into the greenish mist above the world. He watched the countryside as he flew by above it. He closed his eyes for a moment to steady his spinning head. Flooing wasn't his favorite way to travel, but after so many years, the sickness had worn off. Today, however, he traveled very far from the Burrow to Grimmauld Place, and he'd never gone that far by Floo before. Panic seized his body. He tried to calm himself, but the speed, tight spaces and whirling physically hurt him. He couldn't move, and he felt constrained and constricted by the green mist. He tried to ignore the pain on his chest, but it was too strong. He had to break from it, but he couldn't. Suddenly the pain became worse. His whole body felt as if a very, very large rock was squishing him into the ground. He couldn't breathe; he couldn't think; his head was spinning and becoming very fuzzy. He felt himself slip into unconsciousness. . . .

WHAM!

He apparently arrived.

Ron attempted to sit up, but he was too weak to move, let alone support his weight and walk right out of the grate. Charlie, noticing his inability to move, pulled him out of the way just as Harry came toppling in.

His mum came running to him as Charlie and Fred held him up. Ron's head flopped onto her shoulder, and the twins laughed. Ron would've told them to bugger off if his lips could move. They pushed his head up, and it flopped backwards, where Ron found a lovely view of the ceiling.

"C'mon, Ronnie, let's get you upstairs," said Fred as he pulled Ron's body weight back up around his shoulders. They performed the stretcher spell and levitated him up the stairs. Harry was right behind him.

Fred and Charlie threw him on his dusty, old bed as if he was a bag of dragon dung. Ron landed with an "Oof" and proceeded to glare at his elder brothers. They straightened him out as the other twin and Bill threw Harry on the other bed. Though the bed was dusty and uncomfortable, Ron quickly fell asleep.

Ron didn't expect for Grimmauld Place to be any cheerier than the Burrow; in fact, he expected it to be ten times drearier. Sirius' death was still fresh within himself, even if it had been three years. Nobody could doubt the youngest Weasley male mourned for Padfoot's death, but it was strange nobody else seemed fazed. That past summer everyone's eyes were empty to some degree – even Snape's. But the house was just as it was two summers before – the summer before fifth year.

Christmas came and went, and the Weasleys spent the holiday with the Order and Mr. Potter. Ron loved the holidays, but everything was different. No need to go on and on about what made this Christmas different from the last – Ginny was a good enough explanation.

However, that night, when his dad announced they would visit Ginny the next day, Ron's happiness soared. He loved his sister dearly, and he yearned to see her. But the pesky voice in his mind told him to not get so anxious and reminded him of the last time he was curious.

The screams haunted him.

* * *

_Ron sat in a white room, waiting for something. He looked around him. His mum and dad were holding each other, crying; Bill and Charlie were there looking forlorn, as were Percy, Fred and George. Nobody said a word; nobody moved except to gasp a breath from sobbing. Where was he?_

_ He examined his family more closely to discover they were all younger. Fred and George weren't nineteen, but only fourteen or fifteen, from the looks of it. His whole family looked younger. He searched around for a mirror, which was behind him, and looked in. His sixteen-year-old self wasn't reflected in the glass, but rather twelve – maybe thirteen._

_ Suddenly a door opened next to his parents, and a tall, male Healer came in, looking grave. The whole family looked up eagerly, hoping for some good news, but when they saw his saddened face, any sign of hope vanished._

_ "Your daughter is very sick. Whoever possessed your daughter's mind has permanently damaged it. The Dark magic needed in order to even _control_ someone – like with the Imperius – is astounding, but to completely take over one's mind – well, the power needed is almost incomprehensible. At this point, we've never had a case like this, so I can't say what exactly we can do for her, but we have experts looking for a solution right now," said the Healer. "But I can say that it will take a lot of work. As I said, the Dark magic needed to possess someone – even for five minutes – is incredible, but to control him or her for – a year is what you estimated? – and even have this aftereffect – well, we can't promise anything."_

_ "Hr. Grand, what are the chances my daughter will be cured?" asked Molly._

_ "At this point, we're not positive. We'd say from twenty-five to zero percent. Since there is no known cure at the moment, there are hundreds of possibilities ranging from Memory potions to Clarifying charms; it will just take a very long time because of Dark magic. Now, when you say cured, I assume you mean completely? In that case, it is zero. We can do everything we can, but the terror of someone possessing your mind, then being temporarily insane – well, she'll never forget it._

_ "I'm sorry to put this on you people. I really am. It's a terrible tragedy, especially for someone so young."_

_ "What exactly is wrong with her?" his dad asked, and the Healer clasped his hands._

_ "Come with me," said Hr. Grand. The Weasleys filed out of the room and into Ginny's temporary bedroom where the Healers observed her behavior. It made Ron sick to think that they were watching and studying his sister as if she were an animal. Ginny was sleeping contently in the starch white, iron bed, but she looked no different from in the Chamber – still pale and ghostly. The walls were bleach white, except for the lines of deep red that caught his eye, especially near her bed._

_ "We've observed her behavior and probed around in her mind a bit with a Legilmest_ _– she can't see at all. She's completely blind._

_ "She can hear though, but she's tone deaf to a very strange extreme – she hears every sound softer than loud talking as distant whispers, almost like a rustle of leaves, and she hears all loud noises as terrifying screams. As a Healer, I could advise you not to speak to her, but that would be irrational. Her illness is not just hers, but your family's as well. Speaking to her will comfort you – there are no comforts for Ginny except sleep. However, I do order that you do not make any loud sounds; she will become violent._

_ "I would advise you not to touch her at all. She becomes extremely frightened with the slightest touch and particularly violent if provoked. She hisses at people or screams. Although, it appears that she lacks physical strength, she is very strong and will remain strong. Her brain is telling her to release muscle-building chemicals._ _She managed to throw one of our nurses off her. Her adrenaline concentration can become very high within seconds._

_ "She also has no memory before the event took place, so even if she could see, she wouldn't recognize anything – and never will. Even if you did manage to get her to trust your touch, it would have to be in twenty-four hours. Her memory span has decreased to that amount of time._

_ "We have observed other behavior in your daughter. She manages to somehow cut herself and draw on the walls with her blood – not very unusual since that's one of her behaviors when she was possessed. She stays in a fetal position all day and hardly ever moves except to hurt herself or try to attack other things. We are doing the best we can to prevent this. There is one oddity in her behavior, however. We've noticed that she occasionally has intense seizures; these are nothing to worry about; we simply put a calming charm on her and put her in a deep sleep._

_ "From this point on, your daughter's life will be a terrible place. Her days are spent in darkness, and what's left of her mind will be on constant guard – as if something is lurking around, waiting to attack her. We will do everything we can, but if a time comes where we have solutions, I'd like for you to consider letting her go._ _I can't describe to you what it is like for her, but I can tell you death is pity – not punishment. Just remember the option is always available. We will do whatever we can to help her – I will personally make sure of that."_

_ Ron wanted to beat this Healer over the head. How could his family even consider _killing_ Ginny?_

_ "T-thank you, Healer," his dad choked out as his mum silently sobbed into his shoulder._

_Ron stole one last glance at his sister – not knowing that in the waking world she would be completely different and that the Healer could not prepare him for what her condition had become – no matter how he described it._

That morning Ron walked mindlessly through the corridors of St. Mungo's. His family was far ahead of him, walking fairly slowly. He ignored the paintings on the wall and the hustle and bustle of the hospital. His eye caught the portrait that told him he had spattergroit the year before. His mind was overcome with images of the year before – before this world, when things were simpler. He didn't care about memories; he wanted to see Ginny.

It'd been over four months since he saw her, and that was the longest time since his first year. When Harry told him she went mad, he didn't accept it. His little sister was in St. Mungo's. What was she like? He often envisioned insanity like Lockhart's condition, Martin Miggs, Sirius before he discovered the truth, or even Neville's parents.

Or even the Dark Lord.

However, whatever he was expecting wasn't it.

When he saw his sister sitting in a ball on her bed in a fetal position , his mind turned hazy. She seemed scared, as if the whole world was against her. She seemed like a sad, innocent child who just saw her mum tortured and killed right in front of her eyes. Ron wanted to go to her, hold her, and tell her it was okay. Just like when they were really little. Ginny would run up to his room when she was scared. Ron would comfort her to sleep those nights. He felt so grown-up protecting his younger sister. He was her older brother, and she was his responsibility. Everything that hurt her was bad – she had to be happy and safe.

Ginny's hair was hardly red anymore. It was black with wisps of white and gray. Her body looked so fragile, as though if he tried to touch her, she would break. Although the large hospital gown dwarfed his tiny sister, it stuck to her white, pasty skin. Her hair was a mess, her nails were yellow, and he saw a constant flow of tears coming down her face. She looked like the same little girl he saw come out of the Chamber of Secrets four years ago. Only weaker and almost resembling _Riddle_.

He looked around the hospital room. Like the other rooms, Ginny's room did have touches of home. There were pictures of them, a knitted quilt on her bed, and a few childhood toys. The room was fairly small. It had some shelves, a locked chest of drawers, her Hogwarts trunk, her bed, and a nightstand. Ron picked up one of the pictures on the shelf. It was the article when they won the Galleon Draw and the picture attached. Except, this time, it wasn't Egypt, and Bill wasn't in the picture. It actually was an old family photo. He took the picture out and noticed the article had been folded back. It read:

**MINISTRY OF MAGIC EMPLOYEE SCOOPS GRAND PRIZE**

Arthur Weasley, Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office at the Ministry of Magic, has won the annual Daily Prophet Grand Prize Galleon draw.

An unhappy Mr. Weasley told the _Daily Prophet_, "My daughter, Ginny, took ill this last year at Hogwarts. We're going to use the money to give her the best care we can."

The story of Ginny Weasley and her last and only year at Hogwarts was released to the public at the beginning of the summer. The picture of the Weasley family above was taken several years ago when the youngest had not taken ill. Despite Ms. Weasley's condition, the four youngest Weasley boys will be returning to Hogwarts for the start of the term.

The picture did have "Scabbers" and Errol in it. Ron couldn't help but wonder in awe at how fate seemed to sort everything out. Not that he believed in destiny, but somehow a picture of Pettigrew still got into the paper.

Ron noticed for the first time that there were bloodstains on the walls. Particularly dark ones said, "Her blood will spill," and, "The Dark Lord will rise more powerful than ever before!" "I am Lord Voldemort!" There were drawings as well. Eyes surrounded the room, even the ceiling. There were sketches of Tom Riddle and the basilisk. There was even a picture of their family with some illegible writing below it.

"Ginny? Ginny, dear. It's Mum," said his mother gently. He watched as she sat beside Ginny on her bed. Ginny didn't move at all. Ron found it rather eerie.

"Ginny, it's Mum. We've come to visit you, dear. Oh, we love you so much." A few small tears fell down Molly's face. She moved to comfort her daughter, but Ginny retreated far into a corner, away from anyone's touch. His mum was crying openly now and tried to hug Ginny, but Ginny hissed and curled into a tighter ball.

His mum looked around the room and excused herself for a moment. Harry looked over at him and sat down against the wall. Ron knew Harry felt awful, and that he didn't want to be here.

Ron glanced back over at his sister, who was watching him intently. Her eyes weren't even their light brown anymore; they were black and haunted. They were empty and full at the same time – her eyes were the Dark Lord's. Her eyes belonged to Tom Riddle. Her eyes were empty of emotion, but filled with Riddle's possession of her.

Oh Merlin, she was still possessed by him! Riddle seized her mind four years ago, and her mind was corrupted to the point of insanity! But – how? She came out fine in the other world! Ron moved to sit on the bed. He sat down closer to her and stroked her back. Ginny tensed up, curled into ball, and hissed at him – much like a snake. His dad sat down next to him and watched him and Ginny.

Ron moved even closer to her now, so they were sitting right next to each other. Ron hugged his sister, and she started sobbing; she tried to break free of his embrace, but Ron held on tighter. She began to scream, hiss, wail, and flailed around to break free. She gradually stopped, knowing she couldn't escape. Ron kissed her head as if she were a small child. She was sickeningly cold. Ron loosened his arms, and she dashed away from him, crouching in another corner, sobbing and shaking with fear.

He never wanted to see her again. He never wanted to see her like this. He wanted to go home; he wanted her to be all right. He was tired, and watching Ginny made his insides run cold and his eyes sting. He had never felt worse for his younger sister and never hated Tom _Riddle_ more.

He turned around and saw Fred and George glaring at him in repressed anger.

"What's the matter with you?" Fred asked furiously, and his dad tried to calm Fred down. "Are you trying to make her worse? Don't you know _anything_? She's scared of us, idiot!"

"Fred. . . ." their father warned. Ron stared up at them defiantly, but just then, Hr. Grand from Ron's dream came in the room.

"Mr. Weasley – er, Senior. Could I speak with you and your wife for a moment?" the Healer asked, and his mum and dad walked out. Ron pushed his way through his brothers and listened to the Healer talking in the corridor.

"Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, I'm sorry to inform you, but your daughter has not shown any signs of improvement the last four years; she's only got worse. I really am very sorry, but there's nothing else we can do for her," said the Healer.

Ginny's cry of agony interrupted the Healer's morbid speech. They ran inside as Ron looked over at her. She was no longer shaking, but jerking violently. Fred and George ran over and put her on her bed as her movements became steadily more intense. She was having a seizure. The Healer was calling for a nurse, and not a moment later, a mediwitch ran in with her wand ready.

Ron looked back at his sister, who was flailing around disturbingly; her body didn't look human. He saw something flicker in her eyes before they rolled back into her head. The mediwitch was about to cast the spell when Ron decided the flicker was something. Everything clicked.

"NOOOOOOO! STOP! LEAVE HER ALONE!" Ron cried, stepping in front of Ginny. The whole room stared at him in either anger or shock.

"Stand aside, Mr. Weasley, or your sister will harm herself," said the mediwitch calmly.

"No! No, don't you get it? Ginny's still possessed by Riddle! She's trying to get out!"

"Mr. Weasley, what is this nonsense? I'll ask you again to stand _aside_!"

"She's trying to get out; she's fighting him! Can't you see it?" Ron pleaded with the woman.

"Your sister has these convulsions quite often, Mr. Weasley, and they can cause lasting harm; now _move_!"

"Ron, move it!" shouted George and pulled him out of the nurse's way.

"Damn it! Listen to me! Riddle is still in there! Ginny's trying to fight him! How the hell is she supposed to get well if you're preventing her from getting out!? Bloody hell!"

"Listen for a moment, Mr. Weasley –"

"No! You listen to me, you cow! My baby sister is still in there! Here you come along with your bloody stunning spells, and you bring down the strength she's gathered up to get out! Damn it, listen to me! She – is – trying – to – get – out! Let her, damn it!"

"Ronald Weasley! Move out of the way! Are you trying to kill your sister?" Molly cried hysterically.

"NO! This hospital has tried to help Ginny, but nothing's happened! Just try it! TRY IT! Please. I want my sister back," Ron said softly and looked behind him at Ginny, who was now trembling so quickly he couldn't see her fingers.

"Mr. Weasley, Mrs. Weasley, what do you say? I must have your consent," said Hr. Grand. Ron could tell Ginny's nurse didn't like this one bit. Ron looked pleadingly up at his parents. He knew his sister was trying to get out, and they'd have to kill him to get to Ginny.

"Fine," his mother replied softly, very unsure of her decision. "He's right; nothing else has worked. This is the only option left."

Ron backed away, and they watched Ginny, who started screaming bloody murder, her body never once moving. Ron held back the nurse, who instinctively moved toward her miserable patient. The screaming died down into grunts and moans of pain and agony. She twisted and turned as if she were having a nightmare. Her face contorted with defiance and anger, and she shouted out her anguish. Tears fell past her closed eyes as she ripped at her hair and at her body. She squirmed around as if she were pushing – _fighting_ – someone off her!

It was sick to watch, one of the most awful things he'd ever witnessed, but the fact that he knew his sister was struggling to survive, and leave her prison dictated by Tom Riddle's power-hungry mind, made everything okay. He wanted desperately to help her, but knew that he couldn't. This was Ginny – and Ginny alone. Nothing and no one could help her. She was weak inside, but he knew his sister was strong-willed.

Her body was covered with sweat from the work. He saw something now. Ginny sat up and was trembling, and he could tell by her determined face that she was almost through. He would see his sister again. He could be proud of her for doing this. He could tell her how proud he was.

Ginny kneeled over in pain, but left her head as high as she could. He saw her gagging almost every five seconds. Her face was twisted with determination and strength.

_'C'mon, Ginny, c'mon! You can do it," _Ron thought, watching her continue to gag and struggle with anything and everything she had.

Suddenly, the room seemed warmer, and Ginny breathed deep and fast, as if she had escaped drowning. She fell back on the bed, her body weak and breathing still heavy. The Weasleys and Harry ran over to her. The mediwitch looked completely flabbergasted. Molly pushed her way through to talk to Ginny.

"Ginny? Ginny, dear? Can you hear me?" their mum asked desperately, soothing back her daughter's hair.

"Mum?" Ginny replied, and their mum sniffed a sob. Tears flowed from Ginny's eyes as she looked up at her. "Oh, Mum, I – I - I'm so sorry! I'm s – s - so s – s- sorry! Please forgive m –m – me, please, please, please!"

"Oh, dear, shush, it's all right; we're here, love. Shush. Oh, Ginny, we love you," his mum whispered and kissed her head. Ginny opened her wonderful hazel brown eyes again, and Ron couldn't help but get a bit teary. Ginny.

"Ickle Ginnykins? You all right?" Fred asked with a relieved smile.

"I'm tired, and I've got a wicked headache," she said slowly. Ron smiled; Ginny still had her wonderful sense of humor. "I want to go to sleep –"

She gagged again, but this time into the bin next to her bed. She fought with Riddle and forced him down from taking over again. Ron could see blood on her lips. He felt awful. Her body was shaking again, and her breathing was haggard.

"Mum," she cried softly, "Mum, Mum, Mum, I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry! Please, don't let him come back, please. Please, please, please. Mum, I want to go home. I want him to go away. Mum, I'm so sorry. Dad, Dad, help please. I don't want to go back into the dark. I don't want to, please. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry! Please, help! Please!"

"Ginny, it's all right!" Ron said, giving her a big hug. She brought her shaky arms around him and cried into his shoulder. "Calm down, Gin. You'll be all right. I promise." She left his embrace.

"Ron, I'm sorry. I attacked the people at school. I did all those things. I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I tried to kill Harry! I'm so, so, so sorry! Please, Ron, forgive me. Fred, George, I'm sorry. Please, I don't want to go back in the dark; I want to go home. Mum, Dad, I'm so sorry. Please help. Please!" Ginny wailed, and Molly hugged Ginny tightly.

"Ginny, we'll help you. We promise," said his dad, holding Ginny's hand and kissing her forehead.

"Mum, Dad, it's getting dark again. I'm tired. I don't want to go back in the dark! Please! I want to stay here, Tom. Let me stay here, Tom. I'm not ready to go! Please, let me stay with my family. Tom! Leave me alone! I don't want to go back in the dark! Tom, NO!" Ginny cried, yelling at nothing. Her eyes turned black once again, and slowly she slipped into unconsciousness, mumbling her pleas to the man responsible for all of this.

Lord Voldemort.

* * *

Ron lay down that night with hopes he would get a decent sleep. Ever since he saw Ginny, images of her in that hospital room with Tom Riddle plagued his mind and drained his body of the little energy he possessed. Riddle was the puppeteer, and Ron's family was his little wooden puppet gang. Riddle controlled their lives, hurt their sister, and enjoyed their pain. All Ron wanted was one dreamless sleep.

But the dreams came. Every night they came – each one more disgusting and horrifying than the one before it. Nobody really noticed a change in Ron. His family was always gone, and Harry probably heard him thrashing around at night. Time never passed so slowly.

Ron sat up in bed only a week after Christmas from another nightmare. He walked downstairs and saw someone sitting at the table drinking some tea.

"Hello, Ron," said Tonks tiredly and waved him over. Ron came over to the table and sat down. "Want some tea? It's Russian. My mum sent it to me."

"Sure," said Ron, as he ran a hand through his hair and yawned. Tonks set a steaming cup in front of him. The tea smelled spicy and only lulled him into a sleep.

"Tired?"

"No, just sleep deprived."

"That would qualify as tired," Tonks laughed. "Nightmare?"

"Yeah, how'd you know?"

"That's the only reason people get up in the middle of the night and drink tea. What was it about?"

"Oh, nothing really, school mostly," Ron lied. He didn't want to pour out his heart to Nymphadora Tonks. As much as he loved his sister, he really didn't show it often. Plus, if he said he had nightmares about Ginny, it would only start more conversation. Ron really wasn't in the mindset for a deep conversation.

"Sixth year is pretty tough, I remember. Seventh year is the worst, though. You'll be fine. You got your brothers and even me if you want. I was really good at Potions – even with Snape."

"Oh, thanks," Ron said softly and stared into his cup.

"Something bothering you? Besides the nightmares," Tonks asked suspiciously. She couldn't believe him – he never really cared for schoolwork; why would he dream about it?

"I'm just tired."

"Now I don't believe that for a second," she said, and Ron inwardly laughed. Damn Auror training. "You don't have to tell me; I'm not so sure if I can be a help, but I can try."

"Don't worry about it, Tonks."

"Well, whatever's wrong, you'll be fine. Everything'll work itself out; I _promise_. You just keep working hard and set your goals high. If you try hard enough, Ron, you can accomplish anything. You just have to work at it. Nothing happens at once. Try looking at it differently. The answer isn't always what it seems at first glance," said Tonks, slowly boring her violet eyes into his blue ones.

"That's actually wonderful advice. A bit cliché, but universal. Any problem you have, that bit of advice can solve it," said a voice from the doorway. Ron looked to the doorway to find Remus Lupin in his dressing gown. His hair was standing in odd angles, and eyelids sagged. "Good morning, Tonks."

"Hello, Remus. Couldn't sleep? Would you like some tea?" Tonks stuttered and fumbled with the teapot.

Ron couldn't help but notice she was blushing a bit._ 'Bloody hell, when did I start noticing things like this? Does Tonks - ? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!'_

"I would love tea. What kind?"

"I dunno, something Russian. There you go," said Tonks, setting the teacup in front of Remus and smiling shyly.

"Have trouble sleeping, Ron?" asked Remus then took a sip.

_'Oh Merlin, not again!__ Ugh.'_ "Er - I think I'm going to head to bed," said Ron before finishing his tea. "Thanks for the tea, Tonks. It's really good."

"Sure, Ron. Good night."

Ron headed up the stairs, back to bed, but he knew he wouldn't get back to sleep. The more he looked, the more this place seemed exactly the same as normal. He continued to climb. Something had to be different. He passed the girls' – or what should have been their – room. He pushed the door open. This room wasn't a bedroom; it was a storeroom. The walls were lined with boxes and tables. There was a cupboard in the corner. There wasn't a single trace that two girls lived there – or ever had. He passed the boxes and tables and opened the cupboard. All the magical devices surprised him. One of which was a Breach Detector – currently glowing the comforting blue. It must have been their storage area.

The one that caught his attention most was a stone basin filled with a silvery liquid – a Pensieve. He'd seen one before in a shop, but he never got to see one this close up. The back of his mind told him to get out, but natural curiosity took over, and he put his hand in the liquid.

It swirled around and around until Ron noticed he wasn't in Grimmauld Place, but the Hog's Head Inn in Hogsmeade. It was raining dreadfully outside when a tall man with a wet, pointed hat in his hands walked in and up the stairs. Ron was compelled to follow.

As he studied the figure ahead of him, he couldn't help but remember his old Headmaster. Was this Dumbledore? Could this be Dumbledore's Pensieve?

The man opened a door leading into an empty room where a short, slim figure already sat at a small round table, a vacant chair adjacent to him.

"Ah, Mr. Dumbledore, delighted to meet you. The fortunes told me good things," said a mystical, _feminine_ voice from the table. Ron groaned, praying to all things good that it wasn't who he suspected it to be.

"Yes, Ms. Trelawney," said Dumbledore, closing the door behind him. Ron groaned and closed his eyes. 'Please, please, please, let it not be her! Please let it be another Trelawney.'

Damn. It was Trelawney. "I can order something from the bar, if you'd like, Ms. Trelawney?"

"No, no, thank you. I must have a clear mind if I am to See."

Ron snorted. _'Seeing, my arse. Your head has to have something in it to See.'_

"Well, Ms. Trelawney, why do you want to work at Hogwarts?" said Dumbledore.

_'Oh, damn it! She's a bloody fraud; don't listen to her! Don't listen to her! You're going to hire her, and she's going to torture innocent children with her telling of their gruesome deaths! You're bloody insane.'_

"I am very talented with the gift of Sight, and I've come from a long line of Seers. I love children, and I hope to pass my gif –"

She suddenly stopped and stared unfocusedly at Dumbledore, her mouth sagging. She went rigid right in her chair; only the beads on her neck and the threads of her shawl moved. Someone could've walked up at the moment and thrown her on the floor, and she would have remained in that same position. It was as if someone transformed her into stone.

Something struck Ron._ 'Shite! No bloody wonder she's been insane all these years! Somebody's been possessing her mind! Must be Dumbledore's weak spot.'_

Ron watched intently as her eyes rolled into the back of her head and her stone hands trembled. She looked like Ginny right before she had a seizure.

Lightning crashed outside, and light flashed through the dingy pug. Sybill Trelawney's voice – harsh and gritty – rang throughout the room.

_"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches. . . . Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies . . . and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not . . . and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives. . .The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies. . . ."_

Trelawney continued on, but Ron felt himself pulled gently out of the Pensieve. He landed on the floor with a loud and painful thud. Dumbledore stood over him, very calm and quiet.

"Hello, sir," Ron said quickly and stood up to face Dumbledore. "Listen, I'm really sorry – I didn't – I, well – I'm sorry."

"Don't fret, Mr. Weasley. Did you see anything of interest? I say, I must remember to lock this cupboard."

"I'm really sorry, sir, I shouldn't have done that."

"It is not a problem. The truth, Mr. Weasley, is in that basin. And the truth, though hard – nothing bad can come from the truth. What did you see?"

"You and Trelawney in the Hog's Head. She told a prophecy, right?"

"Yes, Mr. Weasley, she did. That prophecy is about Harry and Lord Voldemort," Dumbledore said, unfazed. He was so open with Ron. Why?

"I figured as much. Is that the prophecy in the Department of Mysteries?"

"How did yo– yes, it is in the Department, as with all other prophecies. I'd like to tell you about this, but that is all I can reveal."

"Why?"

"I'm afraid to say Mr. Potter does not know about this prophecy. I am very ashamed that you were the one to discover the truth first. I must talk to Mr. Potter – I've avoided it for too long," sighed Dumbledore sadly. Ron's mind clouded with anger and betrayal. How could Harry – the real Harry - not have told him?

"So thi– Harry doesn't know about his destiny? Why didn't you tell him?" Ron asked, feeling more as if he was talking to his best friend rather than Dumbledore.

"The truth, though good, can be very disturbing. Mr. Potter has lived without the prophecy – and his true destiny - very happily. But if I had told him of this, everything would have changed. I was trying to protect him, which is not my place," said Dumbledore, and Ron felt extremely confused. Why was Dumbledore telling him? How was it appropriate that Ron knew about Harry's destiny before Harry even did? Dumbledore could've avoided telling him anything, but he didn't. Why not?

Perhaps Dumbledore trusted him? It was a wonderful feeling to be trusted by Dumbledore, but the consequences were difficult – the summer after fourth year came to mind.

Nevertheless, Ron couldn't help but feel like a man. Here was Dumbledore, the greatest wizard of the time, talking to Ron as if he was an adult – feeling remorse and confessing his mistakes. Though the reasons were unknown and unexplained, there was a level of truth and respect. Ron never felt more proud and uncomfortable in his life. Dumbledore's reasons could have gone beyond Ron's curiosity. But what were they?

"I suppose I must tell him tomorrow. Mr. Weasley, don't mention anything to Mr. Potter, if you will. I'd rather he hear it from me."

"Of course, sir," said Ron and bade Dumbledore his goodnight.

Just as Ron suspected, he didn't get back to sleep that night and watched the sunrise – a very rare event for Ronald Weasley. He sat next to the window and watched for hours as the Muggles left their homes for work. Somewhere along the line, Ron drifted into a much needed sleep.

When he awoke hours later, Dumbledore was sitting next to him on his bed.

"Good afternoon, Ronald," said Dumbledore, and Ron jumped at the sound of his voice. It wasn't everyday you woke up next to your old headmaster. Had Dumbledore been watching him?

"Hello, sir," Ron yawned.

"I wanted to talk to you privately, if that's all right," said Dumbledore.

"Er – sure," Ron replied and straightened up. He felt very embarrassed for Dumbledore to see him in his bed things.

"Your house, Mr. Weasley, has been checked. The wards are reestablished and perfectly safe. Your family is out right now, and I wanted to deliver the news. The day after tomorrow, if you'd like, six Aurors will escort you and your family to the Burrow, so you may retrieve your things. I recommend you all stay here, as the state of your house is quite – I think it best to stay here until you go back to school."

"Yeah, I'd like to get everything. The professors'd kill me if I didn't have my homework done," Ron said and ran a nervous hand through his hair. Dumbledore chuckled and stood; though Dumbledore was amused, his eyes still lacked their natural luster.

"Very well, Ronald. Your mother is a bit nervous, and I offered to come along. Would you like me to escort you all? I will, if it makes you feel safer."

"I really can't say, sir. The Aurors are needed other places, but I'm sure you are also. If the house is as safe as you say, I'm sure we're fine."

"Yes, your mother said that as well. My offer still stands, as thirteen wizards is still more than twelve. I must think of the Order members and their _families_ before anything else."

"We'll be fine, sir. Twelve is enough."

* * *

_Ron fell on the floor as if a person had picked him up and thrown him across the room. He groaned while trying to stand. His whole body was sore. Before he took even a step in the pitch black space, he noticed his body was older. He wasn't in his younger body, but his normal sixteen-year-old one. Why was he in his normal body? Perhaps – no. There was no way._

_ Ron examined his surroundings. There was nothing to see but the black emptiness. But ever so slowly, a fuzzy image brightened and became clearer. He was in a long, tall room, nothing like the room of the three-headed dog. The moss-covered stone walls had many pillars of three intertwining snakes. The ceiling was engraved with an intricate design of various sized serpents, all surrounding the giant basilisk with painted, yellow eyes. The engraved snakes slithered around each other and ate smaller snakes. The larger snakes split into two smaller ones and proceeded to attack others with their venomous fangs. The Chamber of Secrets? At the end of the room stood two dark figures with another lying lifelessly on the ground next to them. Ginny?_

_ Ron sprinted to the end of the hall, past the long, thin, bloody corpse of the giant snake, slipping on its damp floors. He sat next to his sister, whose skin was milk white and cold. Her cheeks had no traces of her rosy blush, and her lips were blue from the icy air. Her hair laid about her body like thin threads. She looked no older than twelve. He attempted to pick her up, but his hand went right through her body. He stumbled away from her and looked at the scene playing in front of his face._

_ Dumbledore stood before a black-haired boy the same age as Ron – who looked a lot like Harry! But it wasn't his best friend. His best friend – if he was right about Ginny's age – was only twelve. Making him thirteen. But why?_

_ "Tom," said Dumbledore, and the boy glared at him. Tom? Tom Riddle? But – but it was Harry who killed him in second year! What was Dumbledore doing there? He looked at the giant face behind him and again at the walls. His eyes widened in shock._

_ "No bother coming tonight, old man. I am becoming stronger as we speak, and this silly girl will be dead. Give the Weasley family my gratitude; I'm deeply in their debt," he chuckled victoriously and kicked Ginny's body. Ron wanted to charge at him and beat his bloody face in, but he remembered this was a memory, and he couldn't touch them._

_ Dumbledore shook his head in disappointment and looked at Tom with pity. "I cannot allow you to do this, Tom. I will warn you once: leave now."_

_ "Have you gone mad? I am Lord Voldemort, heir to Slytherin's noble name and cause! I will not take orders from fools! With Ginny Weasley's death, a stronger power than yours will arise, and the deeds of Salazar Slytherin will be mine to fulfill! You leave now, and I might spare your life."_

_ "I won't let you do that, Tom. I won't let you kill an innocent girl, and I won't surrender to you," he said with a deathly calm. "You have always underestimated the power and potential of others. You underestimated my power; you underestimated Harry Potter's power–"_

_ "Potter got lucky!"_

_ "– and now you underestimate the power of Ginny Weasley. You have failed before with your small-minded assumptions of people's strength and will; now you will fail again."_

_ "What do you think you can do, old man? Kill me? Ha! Will the naïve little girl kill me? I am much more powerful than you and that weakling child, not only in my strength, but also in my own potential. There is no potential for weak fools destined to die at the hands of those who seek strength and power! Hundreds have died because of it – before my feet, begging for mercy – and now you and Ginny Weasley will become two more! I won't let some old fool with silly magic tricks kill me! You are not brave enough to execute the deed!"_

_ "I know more about power then you ever will, Tom. You are right. I can't kill you, but I can destroy your memory."_

_ Just then Fawkes swooped in, a silver sword with large rubies encrusted in the handle, clenched in his talons. He dropped it into Dumbledore's open hand, and with one swift motion, the blade pierced through Riddle's heart. Riddle's body dissolved into dust and scattered around Dumbledore's feet. The black memory of Tom Riddle remained in place of his body, silent as the grave. And in an instant, the ebony mist of Tom Riddle's young – yet corrupted – soul flew into the air and dissolved into nothing._

_ Dumbledore dropped the sword as Ron's sister screamed horrifically as if the Cruciatus had been placed on her for so long the pain had numbed and flowed through her – she was one with such evil. When she silenced, Dumbledore sat next to her and felt her face and her pulse. She was shivering so badly, he could hardly hold onto her wrist, but she was still alive. Dumbledore tried to wake her, but she continued to convulse, moaning and sobbing every so often. Dumbledore sighed in defeat as a single tear fell on Ginny's forehead. He picked her up off the damp floor and carried her out of the Chamber._

_ His sister was gone._

_ The scene around him faded into darkness then flashed the haunted black eyes of Tom Marvolo Riddle and Ginny's innocent face with the evil diary in her hands._

Ron screamed and sat up in his bed. Hot sweat and tears covered his body and sheets. The days were terribly slow and boring, but the nights were the complete opposite. Every – bloody – night, a nightmare filled his subconscious and scared him half to death. This last one was new, but it was just as grotesque as the one before it. Life at Grimmauld Place was – well, grim. Everything about the house scared him, and it was obvious the bloody snakes and house-elf trophy heads brought on the haunting dreams.

Ron's breathing was heavy and hitched as more tears fell from his face. Was that what his sister had to endure that entire year? Had to face the last minutes of her life in that Chamber with Riddle telling her she would die slowly and painfully? Or had she been dying the whole year? What did Riddle say to his sister before her life slipped away?

What could have happened to her? Dumbledore killed Riddle – he was gone! So why didn't Ginny wake up?

_"Dumbledore came in and defeated Riddle, but Ginny's mind was corrupted by Riddle possessing her. She's in St. Mungo's . . .she went insane."_

Harry slept through everything; Ron surmised that his best friend's deep sleep was the result of nightmares, which only added more proof to Ron's theory of the haunted house. As dawn rose over the town and its light shone into the window, Ron's epiphany glowed with hope – hope that something in the world would make sense. The diary. . . Riddle controlled Ginny's mind through the diary, and Riddle was destroyed. But a block came again to his thoughts: Why was she still possessed?

Ron closed his eyes, remembering what Harry told him about what happened in the Chamber. Harry went in, Riddle and he talked, Fawkes came in with the old Sorting Hat, Riddle sent the Basilisk on him, Fawkes ripped the Basilisk's eyes apart, Harry stabbed the Basilisk in the mouth with the sword, its fang sank into Harry's arm, Fawkes cured him, Harry stabbed the fang through the diary, Riddle was destroyed and Ginny woke up.

So what was the difference? There had to be a differ— the diary!

_'Riddle was destroyed, but the diary wasn't! Riddle's memory went back into Ginny! That's why she screamed; that's why she still looks possessed; it's because she is! Damn it! These people are idiots!'_

If the epiphany before was dawn, this was ten thousand stars with the heat and light of one hundred thousand stars. Dumbledore destroyed Riddle's form, but he didn't destroy the diary! So Riddle was still in Ginny's mind. It all made perfect sense!

Ron jumped out of bed and sprinted to Dumbledore's study. He wasn't there. He checked Dumbledore's quarters; he wasn't there either. He checked the whole house, and he found Dumbledore in the library, surrounded by books.

"Sir?" Ron asked breathlessly.

Dumbledore looked away from his book and up at him. "Ah! Mr. Weasley, may I help you? Pardon me; I was doing some research. Do you happen to know – ah, never mind. Go on."

"Back in my second year – Ginny's first – when you were in the Chamber of Secrets, did you find a diary?" Ron asked, catching his breath from running around the house.

"A diary? No, I did not."

"Oh, all right, then," Ron replied, torn between disappointment and anxiety. So Dumbledore never destroyed the diary! Ron could fix it! He could help his sister! _'I was right! I was right! For the first bloody time in my whole life, I WAS RIGHT!'_

"Is there something you'd like to tell me?" Dumbledore asked slowly and closed his book. Ron noticed the title was _Dark Military Tactics Through Time_.

Ron stood in silence for what felt like forever. How could he explain knowing about the Chamber of Secrets and Tom Riddle? He couldn't, and Dumbledore had enough on his mind. He couldn't bother Dumbledore with trivial matters, especially with such a heavy workload. Ron loved his sister, but second year knowledge and a Parselmouth best mate were all the resources he needed.

"No, my sister kept a diary for a long time, and she carried it with her everywhere; I thought that – perhaps – you found one," Ron lied quickly. Yes, he had a plan. He didn't need Dumbledore. Everything would be fine. Except the fact that Dumbledore didn't look like he bought it. Ron was thankful Dumbledore didn't press the matter any further. Ron said his goodbye and left. Ron pulled his tired body back to bed. With the mystery of Ginny Weasley solved, perhaps the dreams would leave, and he could get some decent sleep. He'd have to rest his mind and body for the raid tomorrow on his own home.

* * *

It took Harry, Fred, George, several buckets of water, and several loud horns to wake Ron. When he fell asleep after his conference with Dumbledore the day before, Ron slept through the day and night, and he was _still_ tired. His stomach grumbled from the lack of food, but his family couldn't wait for the sun to rise. The Weasleys and the team of Aurors headed out at four o'clock sharp. They said that early morning was the best time to leave because everyone was asleep. Ron thought that bit of logic was bollocks because it only worked if the enemy didn't suspect you'd come in the morning, and if everyone knew it, how was it safest? Ron personally thought midday was best. Everyone was at work; the enemy would have thought they weren't coming by eleven o'clock, and they would leave because they were cold, hungry, and tired. The best part of midday? They didn't have to wake up early in the morning.

Ron, his dad, and Harry rode a Portkey to the grounds this time, after concluding the strain of the wards around the Burrow and Grimmauld Place drained the travelers of their energy. Bill had been researching ways to prevent this in his spare time.

The Portkey and its travelers landed with a loud and painful thud. Ron lay on the cold grass. His family would have to pull his dead body off the ground, because he refused to stand. He didn't have to wait long, because the twins anticipated his actions and forced his legs to hold his body. Three Aurors surrounded the outside of the house, two charged inside, and the last watched for any ward breakage. When it was all clear, he and his family ran into the house – they had exactly forty-five minutes with a thought they might not come back. Ron opened his trunk and checked if everything was there. Harry, too. When they found nothing apparently missing, Harry helped Ron take his things. Clothes, posters, photographs, his pillowcase, his chess set, an antique watch – a family heirloom, his old stuffed dragon, and other mementos of his childhood.

Ron thought the task would be easy, but whenever he thought of one thing, another popped into his mind, and he had to make very tough decisions. But the hardest part was finding everything. Ron wanted to beg the Aurors to give them just ten more minutes, but they said anymore would pose a threat. Ron thought hard about everything he wanted and everything he could live without.

They lugged their trunks and other various objects down the stairs with only five minutes left. It was extremely difficult getting the large trunks down the stairs. Everyone met around a single Portkey, and the Aurors readied them. Ron just then remembered – a photograph. He'd kept it in one of his Quidditch magazines. The photograph was one of the few of his Grandfather Weasley and the only one of every single Weasley. The Aurors told him to leave it, but that picture didn't just mean something to him – it meant something to the whole family. His mother told him to forget it, as did his brothers. But Ron's resolve was set. He sped upstairs with Harry before his family could say anything, and he pulled the picture out from the book hidden beneath a bunch of rubble.

Ron stood up quickly but glanced out of his window. Harry questioned Ron's sudden stillness and looked out with him. The shadows outside were moving.

The Death Eaters moved quickly and set the house afire. There had to have been at least twenty Death Eaters. There was no way they could take them all on! The two hurried down the stairs as Bill and his mum were screaming their bloody heads off. Just as they were about to reach the bottom, an object dropped through the roof, and Harry's Seeker reflexes pulled Ron back. In a matter of seconds, their escape was blocked by roaring, red flames, and they were trapped in a burning building.

They jumbled around with their wands, trying to freeze the fire, but it did no use. The bloody bastards charmed it resistant to spells. They searched around for any answer, anything to get outside. They had to back away from the heat.

"_RON!_" Bill's magnified voice screamed. "THE AURORS DON'T DETECT ANYONE OUTSIDE! CAN YOU GET OUTSIDE?"

"WE CAN TRY!"

"TRY OR YOU DIE; NOW GO! YOU DON'T HAVE MUCH TIME!"

Neither Ron nor Harry had any intention of staying there. They searched for anything to help them out. They searched frantically, completely clueless. Harry pulled Ron into Ginny's old room – the third landing. The only way out was to jump. But below them was only ground and fire climbing up the side of the Burrow.

"RON! Help me make a ladder!" Harry called, and Ron helped tie blankets together. At first it didn't make much sense to make a ladder down into the fire, but slowly understanding formed.

Harry climbed down first, repelling down the side of the house. Ron followed close behind; he felt a huge tug on the rope and almost fell off. Harry had pushed against the wall and above the fire to land painfully on the ground. Ron followed suit and searched for the party. They were standing in a huddle around a Portkey. They all called after him. Harry grabbed the Portkey, Ron grabbed the Portkey, and they zoomed back to Grimmauld Place. Everyone watched the sea of red flames engulf their home. Everything they ever had, everything they ever wanted, every memory they ever made – Bill leaving for Hogwarts, Ginny's birth, the Teddy-Spider fiasco, bangs and booms from the twins' room, the trees, the pond, the breakfasts, his dad's car – everything was gone.

An owl dropped a letter in front of his dad. His hands shook as he opened it. He stared at it a moment then turned back to his family. Time stood still at the sight of horror on Arthur Weasley's face.

"Arthur, what does it say?" his mum asked anxiously.

_"Death comes to those who meddle."_

* * *

Ron stared outside as the Hogwarts train sped past the forests and meadows. The last week at Headquarters was ten times worse than he'd ever seen it. His parents got into arguments, everyone was on their toes, and Mad-Eye looked out for everything, interrogating him for waking up in the middle of the night from bad dreams.

Ron closed his tired eyes and replayed his parents' row in his head.

_"Arthur, we can't do this anymore! We've already lost our home; what's next?" she asked as if pleading for the answer._

_ "I don't know what's next, Molly, but we can't _leave_. We gave Dumbledore our word, and so did the boys."_

_ "I don't give a bollocks about our promise to Dumbledore! My family is more important! I won't get our children killed! You read that message; you know what it meant. It told us to stay out of it."_

_ "I realize that, Molly, but we don't have anywhere else to go. Where will we stay? The Burrow is gone. They want us to hide, Molly, and damn it! I won't hide!"_

_ "I don't want to either, but I'd hide forever to keep my family safe. Don't you care?"_

_ "How can you even ask me that? Of course I care, but we aren't teaching them anything by running away. We have to fight, Molly."_

_ "Fight and get ourselves killed!"_

_ "There's a risk in everything, Molly! We raised them right. They know this is important, and they're willing to risk their lives. You knew that from the get-go."_

_ "I was willing to risk mine. _MINE!_ But I won't allow my actions to get everyone killed! My two sons were nearly killed today! KILLED! How can you tell me that I'm not leading them into danger?"_

_ "They get themselves into dangerous situations all the time!"_

_ "Oh, so that makes it right?"_

_ "That's not what I meant, and you know it. I can't tell you there's no risk, but they want to help, Molly! I know I won't say anything to make you feel better, but they want to help!"_

_ "Retrieving our things from the Burrow is _not _important! It's not helping. It was dangerous! I'm telling you. I can't do this anymore, Arthur!"_

_ "So you're going to quit? What about Bill and Charlie? What about Fred and George? Just because you quit doesn't mean they will. If you get out of it, Molly, we're still going to be in danger. Do you think the Death Eaters will simply forget we were once against them? We're going to be in danger either way, so why not help?_

_ "Molly, I love you, and I love my children, but if we quit because of one little scare, what does that say about us? We've taught them to stand up and fight, but now we're going to hide? Is that what you want to say? We're cowards? We're frauds and hypocrites? If we back down, the Death Eaters and You-Know-Who have only accomplished their goal. We _can't_ surrender. We can't do that to our family," said his father sternly. Ron beamed with pride. His father was right. They couldn't give up._

_ "Arthur!" His mum cried and hugged his dad close, sobbing into his shoulder. "I'm so scared! You're right, but I have to protect them! I have to make sure they're safe and happy. I have to know we'll be all right. I love you, and I love the children. I always will, no matter what happens."_

_ "'Till death do us part," he said and pecked his wife on the lips._

_ "Until death do us part."_

Ron shook the thoughts from his mind and continued to stare out the window. Ron knew his mum's comment on Harry being her son hit his best friend hard. Never having had a real family, Harry must've felt wonderful. Ron felt good too. He and Harry were close enough to be brothers, everyone knew that, but for his own family to officially accept him as one of the Weasleys – Ron burst with pride.

The aforementioned Harry Potter was currently in the loo. For some unexplained reason, Ron had a sudden urge to look through his trunk. At the very bottom of the mess was the Shakespeare book he'd borrowed from the library.

He opened it, to check its quality. It was fairly old, but not so old it smelled like decaying socks. The first page, after the title page of course, was a simple quote. A simple quote that, when he read it, made the past few months really come into perspective. Everything he worked for, everything he lost, everything he discovered and made and loved and hated – all of it became clear. His dream came into focus, and his goals were set high. Ron would change his life back. Bollocks to this world – he was taking charge.

Before Ron stomped down the corridor to punch in Malfoy's face, he left the book open for the world to read:

"The very substance of the ambitious is merely the shadow of a dream."

*~*~*~*~*

A/N: (aka Atomic Bomb/Angry/Awful/(Better Watch Your) Ass/Author Note:

*screams and bangs head* 7u nhjuynhbjyu

I. Hate. Pronouns.

I. Hate. Verbs

I. Hate. Murder. (And mustard)

Okay, the last one wasn't really relevant, but I still hate it. :(

I hope you liked this chapter. My freaking chapter had enough verb and pronoun mistakes! *menacing growl scaring away little children and rabbits* I wanted to kill something. *Mustard-lovers run too* Preferably, my story, but I doubt that would've solved anything. So I will rant here. :D

I hope it was freaking long enough. I told you things would be getting nastier and evil, etc., etc. This is pretty much the halfway point in the story. Maybe a bit less, but definitely not more. Also, we really don't learn many more Canon changes anymore, but there's now going to be more development in this world. You've already seen some of it. I can't give away much more, or the surprise would go "POOF!"

Since the dawn of time, authors of fanfiction have fallen into slumps when moral is really low. (That's what happens when you have two stories that have been ground up so bad they're liquid crap-ola.)

It's now your job as the faithful reader to boost it and pull the said author out of her slump. 

Angelic Ashley

P.S. A special shout out to Gwen who e-mailed me a Howler wondering where the hell my next chapter was. I hope it didn't disappoint! :D

P.S.S. This image inspired me for the end of the Ginny/Riddle/Dumbledore scene:


	10. Chapter 10: The Queston of Reality

The Troll

By Olivia Frost

Chapter 10: The Question of Reality

Torrents of cold rain fell from the black night sky, smoke from the Hogwarts Express filling the air of the Hogsmeade train station. As Ron and Harry made their way to the carriages, Ron couldn't help the forbidding feeling in his stomach. Something wasn't right that night, but he couldn't specifically place it. When he left Hogwarts before the holidays, a relief washed over him – a relief he didn't even notice. However, he approached the Hogwarts castle, and the burden came upon him again. As they came near the carriages, pulled by symbols of death itself, the coldness inside his body exploded, and the warning became stronger in his stomach. Did "death" have such a strong impact on him? Something about the thestrals seemed right – as if they were the missing piece to a puzzle, but he couldn't see the bigger picture. What could create such a strong fear and nausea?

Thick, cold drops of rain fell on the students as they made a dash from the dry carriages to the warm castle. Filch ushered them into the Great Hall for dinner, sneering and spitting for them to hurry up. The students willingly steered clear of the Squib.

Ron and Harry sat at the end of the Gryffindor table, awaiting the food – the long journey was tiring, and good food would warm their wet bodies. However, when the food appeared, Umbridge stood and called for attention. Ron stopped in the middle of serving his potatoes and put the spoon back. His stomach begged for the food, which teased him mercilessly in front of his face.

_'Bloody TOAD!__ I'm hungry, and she decides to be heartless and torture us with the food _and _her idiotic prattling. I wonder if she would notice if I grabbed a – hurry up, wench!' _Ron thought angrily as he reached for a roll.

"Welcome back, children," she said cordially. Half the students groaned. "I hope you all had a lovely Christmas holiday and are happy to be back in school, ready for the new terms."

Ron would have believed her words had she not been such a cow before. He was sure anyone could come up with something more interesting than that – Dumbledore could make those same words ten times more interesting. She was probably the evilest, most boring person on earth. But for someone with such a large mouth compared to her small brain, her small speech was equivalent to Hamlet's soliloquy (which he learned was _Hamlet_, not _Romeo and Juliet_) or King Arthur's "A Prosperous Kingdom" speech.

Ron hoped she would choke on her Yorkshire pudding and die an overly dramatic death, so everyone could laugh. Her headstone would read, "Death by Disobedient Beef."

"There will be a few changes this new year at Hogwarts," said Umbridge in her congested little girl voice. "The Ministry believes these changes are vitally important in educating you students to become responsible, mature adults. Our Minister feels our young people are suffering from lack of political and social awareness. He feels that education shouldn't just be learning new spells or potions, but much more. An understanding of how our government operates is necessary for knowing how the country runs and recognizing the issues of today and tomorrow. He wants our young people to have an understanding of political and social problems, and thereby establish your own beliefs and make conscientious decisions based on _truth_ and _fact_, rather than uneducated morals

"As a result of this decision by Minister Fudge, with the support of the entire Ministry of Magic, a new program is established and _mandatory_ for all students and staff."

"The entire staff will be re-examined and tested for their abilities as a wizard and teacher, as well as their background information will be examined. The Ministry feels it's important our staff be capable of educating the minds of tomorrow and making the school a friendly, safe, _magical_ environment. Therefore, Ministry workers will be observing classes at all times until the evaluation is complete, at which time your teachers and staff will either be replaced or continue with their fantastic work.

"Ministry workers will be patrolling the corridors to ensure all students are in the right locations. Furthermore, they will be stationed during leisure time in the Great Hall, library, and your common rooms. If we want to teach you correctly, we must ensure our students are being respectful, mature, and polite at all times. All activities must be school appropriate, all speech must be school appropriate, and all actions must be school appropriate. We also require passes when traveling in the corridors between the Great Hall, outside, library, and common rooms to guarantee we know where you are at all times. From now on, wandering around in the corridors is not permitted, and you must have an authorized pass with you at all times when in the hallways.

"Any infractions of the aforementioned rules will result in punishment. Suspicious behavior by student or teacher will entitle a search of your private belongings. Continual disobedience or troublesome behavior will have dire consequences. The consequences are subjective to your performance as a student, your record of prior infractions, character observations, and what the teachers believe is appropriate to solve the problem.

"There will be a mandatory meeting for fifth, sixth, and seventh years to discuss life after school. Sixth years will have meetings with their parents to talk about their performance as a student and staff observations.

"Lastly, _all_ students must attend a nightly class. This class will be for the discussion of the political, social, and economic issues, how to read the newspaper properly, how to decipher the meaning and create your own ideas based on what's accepted and true. The Ministry hopes this class will make all of our young people more aware of the activities in our country. This will turn you naïve children into well-informed adults – able to stand up for what you believe and argue it intelligently.

"The new rules will be passed out in classes tomorrow, and the new class will start next Monday. Everyone tuck in!"

As Ron fell asleep that night with a full stomach, the restless darkness came from inside his chest. He couldn't believe what Umbridge was doing! Who did she think she was? She might be the Headmistress, but to baby-sit them as if they were children and decide to take free reign over their whole lives was criminal. She took it upon herself to judge them and punish them according to how much she liked them. He knew why she was doing this. She wanted to tell them to be loyal to the Ministry, so they wouldn't rebel. He wasn't sure what else this would lead to, but whatever it was, no good could from it.

The next few days until the weekend, the talk of the school was the new program to ensure they were all on leashes. Some students didn't understand the hidden meaning behind the program; some did; some didn't care either way. Fudge's followers didn't mind the new program – of course, it also could have been they were too stupid to see their lives were under the Minister's control. Ron was sure Malfoy was one of those people who didn't care either way. If the Minister wanted to be a sod, then it was no skin off his nose. In fact, some of Voldemort's followers found this a good thing. Allow the people to be ignorant; then nobody would get in his way.

No matter the stance of some of his peers, this program wasn't a good thing. Ron knew Voldemort was back. He'd known it for a year and a half. It only fueled his disgust with the Ministry more. One day, people would see they were right, and Ron prayed that day would never come. When that day came, so did death.

Saturday night came, and the hearty debates over the efficiency of the Ministry's program and the justice in it continued. Ron personally thought the Ministry was effacing the students' ability to use their brains. He and Harry were desperate to get off the topic of the Ministry since it had been discussed non-stop. And the appearance of someone very strange took their mind off the Ministry's idiocy.

"Hello, Ronald," said a dreamy voice behind him. Ron recognized that voice…. He turned slowly around, dreading the face he hoped wasn't there.

Luna Lovegood.

"Hiya, Luna," said Ron with a forced grin on the outside, as the inside groaned. It wasn't that he didn't _like_ Luna; it was just she was a bit over the top, and Ron couldn't go up that high.

"Ronald, I was wondering if I could speak with you for a moment. Alone," she said as if the pause was deliberate.

"Uh . . . sure," he said hesitantly. What did Loony Luna want to talk to _him_ about? He really didn't want to talk to her. She was a nice girl, but she was always so strange, and it was hard for him to understand and respond to her rubbish. He followed her just outside the Great Hall and away from suspicious eyes. Ron waited for her to say something, but they stood there in silence, her icy blue eyes boring into his.

Ron waited.

And waited.

And waited some more.

He waited for ten minutes – the longest ten minutes of his life. Luna just stared at him as if she was expecting him to say something, but when he did say something, she just continued looking at him blankly. Ron grinned awkwardly and turned to leave, saying goodbye to Luna.

He was already a good way there when Luna said, "Eleven minutes and sixteen seconds."

Ron spun around and gaped at her in confusion. She talked! She actually spoke instead of staring at him. "What?"

"Eleven minutes and thirty-six seconds. That's how long you waited for me before you left," she said simply.

Ron stared at her in shock. What? "What? Why in the -? I'm confused."

"Ronald, I want to ask you something very important, and you have to answer me truthfully," she said as if her life depended on it.

"Sure, what is it?"

"When did you arrive?" she said cryptically.

"Huh?"

"When did you arrive – from the other world? I think it was last September, but I'm not positive."

"What the –?"

"_You're_ not the real Ronald Weasley. The real Ronald Weasley would wait for thirty seconds, but _you_ waited for eleven minutes and sixteen seconds. Either you are not the real Ron, or your brain's been taken over by glamafares. Have you been to India recently?"

Ron sprung at the opportunity to answer one of Luna's bizarre questions. "No."

"You're not from this world, so you have to be from another one," she said, using her insane logic.

"Uh, no, Luna, I'm not from a different world. I'm Ron," he lied. No need to get anyone involved in this. Especially not Luna.

"You don't need to lie to me, Ronald. I can see it in you – you don't belong with us. Our world is one big picture, and you're a great big glob of the opposite color."

Ron blanched. Luna – an acquaintance of his – noticed his change in behavior. If she'd noticed, had anyone else? Oh Merlin, Harry had to know! If Harry knew – what would he say? What would Harry do? He had to talk to his best friend; he had to convince him not to tell anyone! They would ship him off to St. Mungo's before he could prove his sanity.

"Nobody else knows, Ronald. I'm the only one. Most people disregard what's right in front of their faces. Where are you from?"

Ron felt some unexplainable force push on his head and soul, convincing him to tell her the truth.

She took his silence as a confession. "I knew you were different. You arrived back in September. . . " She trailed off, thinking to herself.

"Listen, Luna, you won't tell anyone, will you? Nobody would believe you or me, and we'd both be shipped off to some mental institution!" he whispered desperately.

"Of course, Ronald."

A wave of relief spread through his body when he knew his secret was safe. But as soon as the relief came, a new feeling came to him – it was an epiphany of the soul and mind. A hope, a future – a solution all came to him as if the relief triggered an unknown switch in his body. Ron realized Luna could help him get home.

"LUNA!" Ron shouted, practically jumping on her in happiness.

"Yes?"

"You – you know all about this – this _world switching_ thing, right?"

"Well, yes, of course. A reporter for my father interviewed a man this very thing happened to," she said, bursting with pride.

"So, you know how I got here, why I'm here, and – and how I can _get_ back, right?"

"Of course. You'll have to explain your situation to me a bit better," she asked, almost oblivious to the meaning behind his question.

"So, if I wanted to get home – you could _help_ me, right? I mean, it is possible, isn't it?"

"Of course it is. Difficult but possible. I'm perfectly happy to help you," she said. "Well, I'll help you. However, I want something in return."

Ron's hope of ever going back home vanished with Luna's words. What did he have to offer her?

Nothing.

Damn it! He'd be stuck here for the rest of his sodding life.

"I – I don't have anything for you, Luna. I'm sorry. Money? I haven't got any. A date? You must be insane. A boyfriend? That's even worse. Revenge? Homework? I can't help you with any of that."

"Oh, _no_, you have something I want – but it's not anything like that. I want you to tell me what it's like," she said in earnest.

"What what's like?"

"The other world – your world! I want to know what it's like, how things are different. How everyone is different. Sometimes I wonder if I want to know – but anything has to be better than this. Our country – our lives are falling apart in front of my own eyes. I want to know how the worlds are different. I want to take your knowledge and help this world. Maybe then things will change for the better rather than the worse."

"You want to know about _me_?" Ron asked, mainly to himself. Nobody ever wanted to know about him – Ron Weasley. They always thought of him as a Weasley, or Bill's brother, or Harry's best friend – but never as his own person.

"All right," he started again; confidence and an indescribable feeling of importance burst from his heart. For once, he was needed instead of a being a burden. Somebody depended on him to help with something. He was his own person, and Luna saw that. "When can you tell me about all this?"

"We'll meet in the Great Hall in one hour," she said and drifted away as if she were walking on water – graceful, yet her normal, strange self.

Ron was sure that hour of waiting was the longest in his life. Except for when he was stuck in the hideout that Christmas, or the previous summer waiting for Hermione to come to his house after Sirius died, or fourth year when Harry was taken away after the third task, or in third year when his leg was broken or – all right, it certainly wasn't the longest. But he was so excited and anxious to go back nobody could have even tried guessing. He imagined what he would do when he got back, what his friends would think, what classes would be like, what his family would be like, but even with all the good things, there were bad ones too. He wondered if he would get back, or if he even could. At this point, he hated this world so much he would do anything, but there was still that small feeling of dread and anxiety – not the good kind either.

He glanced down at Harry's watch again (which he had borrowed). Seven fifty-five. Bloody hell! How long did it take for the bleeding hour hand to get to the bleeding eight? Ron felt like banging his head on the table or strangling something or just screaming. He wasn't the most patient of people, but this last hour was just ridiculous. Ron groaned and put his head on the table, then checked his watch. Seven fifty-five – still.

"Hello, Ronald," said Luna from the other side of the table. Ron's head popped up from surprise, and he stared her right in the face. Thank Merlin!

"Hi, Luna. Well, um, what exactly is going on?" he asked, unsure how to proceed. Luna dropped a few large books in front of his face with a loud bang. "Books, Luna?"

"Yes, they're science books. Books on science – Muggle physics and such. Physics books. They're important," she said simply then pushed them out of the way. She pulled an issue of _The Quibbler_ off the top, opened it, and then handed it to him.

Ron looked down at the headline in big, bold letters. It said:

**MESSENGER FROM ANOTHER WORLD!**

**By Gavin Macranser**

_Simon Tawren, 39, returned from an other reality two weeks ago, ending a three year journey of discovery – a discovery of love and life. Tawren looks back on that day, caught between spite and gratefulness._

_ "I was grateful for this opportunity. I've been married to my wife for fifteen years, and I have two daughters: Sia is nine, and Cleetra is seven. Both of my daughters require a lot of work. I was always rushing them off to a Quiddich practice or a tea party, while my wife was constantly badgering me to do this and that. There just wasn't enough time in the day for everything I had to and wanted to do. I felt bogged down, and for one fleeting moment, I wanted to be a single man again," said Tawren, during an exclusive interview with _The Quibbler_._

_ As Tawren discovered the next morning, shivering and hungry, he was no longer tied to his family, but a vagrant. As anyone who is suddenly transported to a new world, it took him a while to understand what had happened, but he continued to live, hoping for an answer._

_ "I didn't understand what was going on for the longest time, I tried to contact my wife, my family, but they all slammed the door in my face. It wasn't until I had tea with my wife that I realized this world wasn't mine – literally," said Tawren._

_ After extensive research through ancient texts, charms, and environmental magic, _The Quibbler_ staff found that this is an ancient spell – its origins are unknown – which transports a wizard or witch, fulfilling their deepest wishes._

_ Our staff discovered this wish couldn't be of physical nature, but a subconscious desire for something that would, as it turns out, make one miserable. _

_ "The more and more I got to know my wife, the worse everything became – but wonderful at the same time. I connected with my wife again – fell in love with her, even if she was engaged to another man. I missed my house, my job, and my children. Every moment was a reminder of how great my life was before. The whole experience was a slap in the face. Telling me what I had, what I wanted._

_ "I became closer with my father, a father I had never really known. There was some kind of connection between him and me, an emotional connection. I could feel his sorrows when he talked about my late mother, who, I was very surprised to find, had died. There wasn't a relationship that was affected more or had more potential to change than the relationship with my father. Even if I were there to realize how good my life was, I could connect with my father and carry that over to my own world."_

_ Tawren's connection with his father was no coincidence. The ancient spell's magic also creates a bond between two people – both needing each other, even if it's for very different purposes. Researchers can only speculate that a bridge between the worlds creates a bridge between the two people._

_ "I'm not sure how I got back, I don't think I'll ever know, but I knew in my heart that I loved my wife – more than all the galleons or the freedom or the fame I could have. I knew that she looked at Will, her fiancé, with love. I knew that look because she often gave it to me. I suppose looking on the outside to what she is and what I had gave me a new perspective. I wanted her so badly, I wanted my life back, I wanted normalcy, but when I saw that look she gave to Will, I knew her happiness was more important than my own. I knew that if I really loved her, I could let her be happy, even if I didn't get what I wanted. I closed my eyes when she kissed her new husband, and the next thing I know, my children are jumping on me, telling me to wake up because breakfast is ready._

_ "Even if my life wasn't perfect during that time – Merlin knows it wasn't – I thank the gods for that glimpse. I connected with my wife, my father, and even with my children. I carried that knowledge over with me, and now I have the best of both worlds. Fate gave me a hand, and I dealt with that hand, waiting for it to explode – but it didn't. I played the game, and I got lucky. I can only thank whatever did that to me – I'll never be the same."_

Luna took the newspaper away from Ron, without releasing her gaze. They sat there for minutes, neither looking away. Ron waited for something to happen, but nothing did. She held his gaze without a word, a blink, or even a facial movement. Was this another test? Was she trying to see how long he could wait for her?

"I like that issue – there's a wonderful article on blood-sucking Nargles," she said.

_'What the bloody hell. . ?' _Ron tried to gather a coherent thought – a reply to that bit of randomness, but nothing came. He hated these awkward moments.

"I enjoyed that article as well; did you like it?"

"Ummmmm . . . yeah?" he replied, still uncomfortable.

"You're not the real Ron, so why are you here?"

_'She certainly doesn't beat around the tact bush. Nor the sane bush either, but those are both givens.' _"I didn't want to be friends with Hermione Granger anymore after we got into a huge row."

"That's understandable – she is quite bossy and rude. I'm quite jealous of you, Ronald; this happens to very few people."

"Yeah, who's stupid enough to make a wish that turns their life into a living hell?"

"Well, they liked you."

"Who liked me?"

"The fates," she replied, flexing her fingers, studying their movements.

"Oh great; some super, non-human spirit, feeling, or whatever the hell it is that decides what bad things happen to the world has taken a liking to me. I feel loads better."

"_I_ would."

_'You would.' _"So how the hell do I get my life out of this crap hole?"

"Well, let your wife marry another man," Luna replied, now gazing up at the clouded ceiling.

"Luna, I'm not married," Ron said simply.

"So?"

Ron suppressed a frustrated groan – it was times like now Luna drove him nutters. "How can I give my wife to another man if I don't have a wife?"

"Oh dear, Ronald, it's raining! I must be off – loads of work to do for Potions. Please leave soon, or the rays will turn your limbs to elephant trunks, and your hair will turn green. Goodbye, Ronald."

Ron stared at her in disbelief. "Wait, Luna! How the hell can I do the same thing as that Simon bloke?" he yelled, but Luna kept walking, ignoring his calls. Ron groaned and banged his head on the table.

He was back to square one.

For the next week, Ron asked Luna every opportunity he got what she meant about giving Hermione up. And every time she replied with the same girly, cryptic answer: "What do you think it means?"

Well, obviously Ron thought it meant he had to give Hermione up to her fiancé, but Hermione wasn't engaged, and Ron, frankly, didn't love her. So, by the fifteenth time he asked Luna and the fifteenth time receiving the same answer, Ron gave up on getting the answer directly.

Ron decided to talk to his best mate because he could talk to Harry about almost anything. The key word being _almost_.

_ "Oy, Harry, I have a question," Ron started as they walked down the street in Hogsmeade._

_ "Sure, what's up?"_

_ "Listen, let's say you're in love with a girl, and you split up with her because you got tired of her. Well –"_

_ "Listen, Ron," Harry interrupted angrily, "I know the whole thing with Cho was a practically a year ago, but we both got sick of each other, all right? It wasn't just me!"_

_ "Woah, I wasn't talking about you and Cho, mate; it's a hypothetical question. Right. Say you suddenly found out you'd fallen for her again, but she's already taken. Wha –"_

_ "All right, Ron! I get it! I'll tell you this one more time. I don't fancy Cho, I'll never get back together with her, so just drop it! Why are people badgering me about this?"_

_ Ron shut his mouth and silently wondered if Harry was eating berries from the insane bush while Luna beat around the sane one. They walked for a while in silence, and Ron found himself craving something intoxicating – something that would help him get his mind off the situation._

_ "Harry? Do you wanna go get pissed off our arses?" Ron asked simply, staring at his feet. They both needed something to forget their crap arse situations – or ex-girlfriends._

_ Harry didn't respond right away, but then he said, "Yeah, all right," and the two headed over to the Hogshead._

That whole day was a huge surprise for Ron. He didn't know thathis best mate still had issues with Cho or that you could get a week's worth of detention for coming into the castle drunk, singing "God Save the Queen." Ron wasn't sure if it was the smashed part or the mutilation of their national anthem's lyrics, but Snape reestablished his title as a slimy git with the new addition that he needed to get pissed himself.

Ron tried to figure things out on his own, but everything kept going back to that one answer. How the hell was he going to give Hermione up, and what the hell would it prove? He knew he had to prove he was a dipshit, but that was apparent enough without the public humiliation. He really wanted to figure this out, but he felt that this was the type of question only girls could figure out because it had to do with love or had no answer that someone _sane_ could comprehend. And after Harry's little meltdown, Ron resolved to avoid discussing the topic with anyone except Luna.

The Monday after the Hogsmeade trip was the start of their political classes. A few people – showing a mix of stupidity and brilliance – said they would boycott the first class, but Ron was sure once they found out they would get expelled for not attending, they'd be singing a different song – probably to the tune of blatant sucking up.

Ron resolved himself that morning to talk to Hermione because for once he had a plan. Not just any plan, however, a brilliant plan. A brilliant – yet very simple – plan. He was in this world because he didn't want to be friends with Hermione. Not having Hermione as a friend was bad since it got him here, so maybe getting her back was the key. However, as easy as it sounded, he found getting Hermione "The Ice Queen" Granger to warm up would be difficult.

He headed to the Great Hall and quickly scouted for Hermione before Harry could call him over and his chance would be lost. He wasn't quite sure what he wanted to say to her, but he would say something – anything. He spotted Hermione at the end of the table, absorbed in a book. It was probably best to leave her alone, but he wanted to get out of this world.

Ron was about to sit down across from her; however, someone quickly pulled him away to a corner in the Great Hall. Ron turned around to uncover the identity of his captor. He felt a clump of dirty blonde hair slap him in the face.

"Luna! What are you doing?" Ron asked incredulously, noting her uncharacteristically bold act.

"Ronald, I needed to talk to you."

"Now? You know, normal people don't just run up and pull people whenever they feel like it."

"You wanted to talk to Hermione, and I have to say that's not very wise," she whispered.

"What? Why not?"

"I heard about your row a while back, and I'm sure she's still plenty angry with you. I've heard about your rows, and I know you both hold grudges."

"How would you know that?"

"Well, your rows are infamous," she said simply. "She's a warrior mermaid – if you don't tread slowly, she'll stab you in the ankle and serve you to her people."

Ron really didn't know how in the name of Merlin Luna knew what he was thinking.

So Ron took her advice. After all, she was a girl, and she was the one who told him how to get out of this world. She did occasionally say something worth more than a few laughs. He waited for another week, but by that time, he couldn't wait anymore, and the prospect of home weighed on his mind to the brink of insanity.

The classes, as it turned out, were extremely boring. Their teacher was Professor Binns until the Ministry workers were trained. Hermione diligently took notes, as if there would be a quiz on current events. As the ghost droned on about new restriction codes in Gringotts, his students got some well-deserved sleep. He assured them a trained ministry worker would teach them, and he got stuck with the job since the other teachers refused. Apparently, ghosts didn't have any rights. Ron only prayed Hermione didn't start G.R.O. – Ghosts' Rights Organization. Ron laughed at the picture of Myrtle crying because she couldn't carry her picket sign.

By Wednesday, Ron had a full-fledged story in his head of G.R.O., but soon even that couldn't stimulate his mind. There were times he fell asleep, but other times he didn't – he didn't sleep _all_ the time. So he watched Hermione sit there, ignoring Binns, probably going over assignments for the next five months in her head or creating a study schedule for N.E.W.T.s next year. It wasn't difficult to figure out why she had held off on the note taking; she realized, like the rest of them, this class was one hundred percent stupid and _reading_ the newspaper (even for Ron, who despised reading) was more exciting than Binns. He wasn't positive those were Hermione's reasons to rest from her note taking, but there was one, and the only fact he knew was Umbridge's stupid program was the cause, if not the reason itself.

Ron sat beside Dean and Harry in the Charms classroom the next Monday. They finally escaped their ghostly boring professor, and Ron hoped, perhaps, Professor Flitwick would be teaching them. He was nice enough and fully anti-Umbridge; perhaps the class wouldn't be so bad. Ron glanced at the back of Hermione's head, which was conveniently placed in front of his own seat. She didn't bring parchment to jot down notes as other students did. He couldn't understand how she could actually pay attention, but then she never slept through Binns either.

Ron extracted pieces of parchment and a quill from his pocket, earning a few curious glances from those who knew he hated notes. However, he had no intention to write notes – well, notes from the lecture.

While the students waited for the new teacher (_'Please__ be Flitwick, please be Flitwick. . . '_), Ron wrote a quick note to his bushy-haired friend.

"Hello, Hermione" would suffice, right?

He passed it up to her as the new teacher entered the room, making a very large ruckus. The door banged against the wall, and his new professor's very large boots shook the whole room. This man was extremely large, almost Hagrid's weight but much smaller in height. His robes were a deep, blood red that gave the impression he killed a man just for that exact color. It was really creepy.

It wasn't the color of his robes Ron found strange, but his head. He had long, coarse hair just like Hagrid's pulled back into a ponytail. And his face! He had black lashes, rosy cheeks, and – lipstick? They had a _transvestite_ coming to _teach_ them?

_'Bloody hell, it's a woman!'_ Ron thought incredulously. He would have burst out in laughter, but the sight of this woman sucked out any coherent thoughts.

She was a woman, right?

Ron just wasn't sure anymore.

"My name ith Mth. Valentine, and I am your new teacher for thith clath," she said gruffly, sounding like an slightly smarter Goyle with a lisp.

"The Minithter believeth you little hooliganth thould know about our country and learn thelf-dithcipline – ath it thould be. You all will call me by _Mth__._ Valentine, or there will be conthequentheth!" she yelled, slapping her stick on the table across from them.

"YOU! GIRL! What ith your name?" she asked Millicent Bulstrode.

"Millicent Bulstode, Ms. Valentine."

"That will do. YOU! What ith your name?" she asked Malfoy. Malfoy replied, and she went around the room, doing this to every student and sometimes asking them where they stood on a certain issue. She punished people who didn't know and Neville because he was scared of her – or rather her big stick. It was bollocks.

Ron waited until she began her lecture on the Merlin investigations to pass Hermione his note. She read it and quickly replied with a spare quill in her pocket.

_"Why aren't you taking notes? You remember what he said!"_

Ron wasn't entirely sure of the meaning in her message, but he wrote a reply anyway. _"This is extremely boring. If the woman (at least I _hope_ she's a woman) wasn't so large, I wouldn't care a bit. It doesn't matter anyway – we can read the newspapers. Why aren't you taking notes?"_ he wrote and passed it to her. Ron was thankful Padma's height hid their conversation from view.

Hermione scribbled down her reply and scooted forward. _"I am taking notes. I found a spell that records whatever a person is saying. Under my chair, see? Yes, I agree; she's not the most winsome woman I've known."_

_"Umbridge being the first on the list of cows?"_

_"Who else?__ You should be taking notes. Do you suppose we could meet in the Blue Garden tomorrow night and go over them? Or maybe the Turtle Room?"_ she wrote.

Ron was extremely confused now. She wanted to meet him? She hated him! Why the sudden turn around? _"I thought you hated me."_

_ "Of course I don't hate you; why would I hate you? You're one of the most wonderful people I've ever met! Are you all right?"_

_ "Yeah, I'm just wondering why you suddenly like me. You've hated me since you've known me, and now you're asking me to go to the – what? Turtle room?"_

Hermione sat and stared at the note for a very long time, shaking her head as if deep in thought. Well, Hermione thought about everything – but this was really deep thinking.

When Ron read Hermione's reply, he felt his stomach in his mouth as if it dropped through his body while he was hanging upside down.

_"You're not Dean, are you?"_

Ron chanced a glance at Dean, who was listening and taking notes on Valentine's lecture. Why would Dean be talking to Hermione? Dean was always making fun of her and making rude, sexual remarks about her with Seamus! How would they . . . .? Prefects. They were both prefects! Of course! But, still, that didn't make sense. Nobody really _liked_ Hermione, and why would Dean put on a show? Nothing about it made sense, and even his gut told him there was something more than just being prefects together. His gut told him there was a conspiracy – something hidden between the two of them. What, though?

As soon as Ms. Valentine dismissed them a few moments later, Hermione whirled around to find the culprit posing as Dean – and somehow threatening a secret she so heavily guarded. Ron tried to pull the note away, but her eyes were too quick for his hand. She glared at him with hatred before stomping out of the room. Ron sneaked a glance at Dean; he seemed unaware of Hermione's distress – or he did one hell of a job covering it up.

Ron wasn't in a good mood for the remainder of the week, and it showed. Luna, being the strangely observant person she was, noticed right away there was a problem. She abruptly commanded in her dreamy way to meet him after classes in the Great Hall. The guard in the hallway told them to get a move on it, and Ron didn't get the opportunity to question her any further.

After putting his books away, he walked into the Great Hall, flashing the patrolman his pass and getting it stamped. Luna was sitting at the end of the Ravenclaw table, her hands folded on the tabletop and a chess set placed neatly in front of her. She was gazing at the empty spot across from her as if someone was actually there.

He took his seat on the other side of the table, and she still gazed, ignoring his presence.

"Hiya, Luna," he said, forcing a small grin.

"Hello, Ronald," Luna replied, continuing to stare right through him.

Ron ran a hand through his hair nervously. This was the only reason he didn't like spending time with Luna. She really gave him the creeps. "So – er – you wanted to talk to me? Did you – er – want a – um – go at chess?"

The chess pieces were really nice. Not ridiculously nice, like solid gold or anything, but they were much better than his old pieces.

He noticed Luna was also gazing down at the set with interest, as if they were not her own. Her eyes connected with his and stayed there for a while. Ron really wanted to go. He hated being stared at like this – like some kind of animal.

"Ron," she said abruptly, making Ron jump a bit, "after thinking about what I know about you, the situation, and Hermione Granger, I've decided I want to play chess."

Ron cocked an eyebrow in confusion. "Chess?"

"Isn't chess wonderful? It's a marvelous game. However, we're going to play it a bit differently," she said and, one by one, took his white pawns off the board. "You don't need these; they are no use to you – you can't use them anyway.

"I think my favorite part of chess is all the different pieces. You can't win with just two, and they all have different purposes. The King is nice; I particularly like the King, don't you? He can't do much, but he's very important. The paint lining is wearing off my pieces; I really should get new one, but I love these. Your army might not trust you right now, Ron, but if you can play right, they'll listen."

"Luna?"

"Oh, and bishops – they are so smart, so moral; they have a wonderful offense. They can break through almost any defense. They're just like those Muggle men with the pointy hats; they have a way with people and God – I love their hats; don't you love their hats? I've always had a little love for hats – if only his hat were orange or tropical sea green. I'd like white robes like his. Only lots of different colors – like that too-dooed thing the Muggles do to their shirts."

"Luna?" Ron asked, getting a bit uncomfortable.

"Knights, I love knights. I don't much like horses, but knights are so strong and brave and loyal – why, they have to be loyal to be knighted by the king! Yes, I love knights, but they would be rather noisy with those suits of armor. I think riding a horse would be quite uncomfortable!" she cried, laughing heartedly.

"_Luna_?"

"OH! Queens, why the Queen is my favorite; she can do so much! Why, without the Queen, you might as well give up! The Queen can still win the game if all your other pieces are gone. It's wonderful! Why witho–"

"LUNA!"

"Yes?"

"Are we playing chess or what?"

"Oh yes, but like I said, we're playing it differently. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"No," Ron replied in boredom, agitation slowly rising. He could be doing something useful or fun – like actually kicking her arse.

"No," she said, elongating each sound, "I don't think you do. Of course, you know how to play board chess, where the rules are clear-cut and there are limits, but now you're playing a different game. No rules, no limits, nothing is definite, emotions can both help you and destroy you, the playing pieces can do more than make an 'L,' and there are far greater consequences than having a dragon egg or a Rampothe poison. You have to manipulate, not only thoughts, but feelings, too. You are playing the ultimate game of chess and, frankly, losing terribly. The question is can you rise from the depths and capture the victory?"

"Luna, I'm confused and slightly scared," Ron admitted bluntly.

"It really isn't all that difficult. Love and relationships are a game of chess, Ronald. You are your king; Hermione is her king. Your pawns are the events of your world, while mine are the events of this world. Your experiences are useless here since everything has changed. Rooks are your humor, bishops are your charm – and yes, you do have some shred of charm in you – your knights are your loyalty, and the queen is your desire.

"You know how to play chess. You must know your opponent, their strategy, and you always aim high. Know Hermione for who she is. Those pieces are you. Play them. These are my pieces. Know me. Is my bishop intelligence or defense? Is my knight loyalty or charm? Know me, know my motives, and destroy. It's very simple. Ready?"

Ron didn't answer her, but immersed his attention and mind to the chessboard in front of him. If Ron was good at anything in this blasted world, it was chess and strategy. Whenever he was presented with a challenge such as the one Luna presented, he put his heart into it. This chess game, however, wasn't an ordinary chess game – it was the book on relationships without the reading. He was nervous for this game because Luna was right. This game wasn't just another match between friends; it was a representation for everything he wanted, everything he needed to do.

Minutes passed slowly. Luna waited patiently, studying his movements and almost looking into his mind. However, her gaze suggested she was just there by coincidence. Ron knew she was studying him; he didn't know Luna well enough to say for sure, but his intuition said she was. After thirty minutes of strategic planning and thinking, Ron looked up into her dreamy eyes, excited and prepared for the most intense game of chess he ever played – perhaps ever would.

"Ready."

"I rather like relationships – they're like one big game of exploding snap. Chess is nice too, but the pieces don't explode. Go on; it's your move."

Ron pushed out his kingside bishop, ready to penetrate her defenses.

"Hermione, can I talk to you?" Ron asked, his voice two octaves higher than normal. At that moment, he was in the common room, Hermione in her favorite chair, scribbling down a letter or homework or something as equally boring.

"Sure, what is it? Are you having troubles with the Alohomora Charm?" she asked sweetly, finishing her sentence.

"Uh, Hermione?" Ron tried again, his voice normal. He didn't want her thinking he was pretending to be someone else like in the Charms room.

Hermione spun around at the sound of Ron's deep voice. He prepared himself for the icy stare and cold persona she put on for the world.

"Oh, it's you. What do want, Weasley? Haven't you done enough already? First, you insult me; then you humiliate me in front of the professors; then you pretend to be someone else, so you and your mates can have a good laugh at me. What? That wasn't enough?" she asked angrily.

Ron tried to understand what she was saying, but it was awfully hard. He didn't mean to insult her the first time – okay, he did, but he didn't mean to do those other things! He was nothing but pleasant to the old stick in the mud, yet she couldn't reciprocate the feeling. It took a lot to keep himself calm. Despite what Hermione (and a good amount of the Hogwarts population) thought, Ron wasn't all that rash or hotheaded. Sure, he sometimes said things without thinking of the consequences, but who didn't at some point or another? And yes, he could yell a troll to tears (as his mum often said), but half of the things he wanted to say never came out. He was scared of what people would think if he did say them, what they would discover about the "inner Ron."

"I – I – I," Ron said; he scrambled nervously for anything to say, fingering the lint in his pockets.

"I thought our hatred was mutual, but I suppose I was wrong. So I'll tell you up front, slowly, so you don't misunderstand me. I. Don't. Like. You. . . . Go. Away."

Ron held on to any sanity and dignity he had, trying desperately repressing his temper. Ron, though remaining silent, glared hexes at her.

"You know what? Fine! It took me days to finally suck it up and ask you, but all I get is a beat down. Bollocks to this, and bollocks to you! I thought you were better; I thought you could help me, but I suppose you're going to be a hypocrite and help the kids you actually like," Ron said, with defeat in his eyes, before turning away. _'Three . . . two . . . one. . . .'_

"Weasley, wait a moment," she said, coming from behind him and looking at him straight in his gloomy eyes.

_'I knew it would work,'_ Ron thought, whooping for victory in his head. _'The guilt card and the eyes – Hermione, no matter the world, can't resist.'_

"What is it you wanted?" she said, a bit more patient this time.

"I've been having trouble with my essays and – uh – my potions and – charms, so do you think you could help me?"

"What in particular? The essays, the spells, the potions, the tests? What?"

"E, all of the above. I'm just swamped right now, and I need help," he said, while his mind wheeled, searching for an offer she couldn't refuse.

"We're only two weeks into the term! How can you be swamped already?" she asked incredulously.

"Um… N.E.W.T. classes – I'm just not as – er – hard-working as you are," he replied. _'Hard-working meaning psychotically so.'_

"I still don't know. I'm busy too," she said, and Ron knew he had to come up with something to hook her and quick.

"Erm – N.E.W.T. – erm – STUDYING! I need to get a head start on studying for N.E.W.T.s, or my mum's going to kill me," Ron said, his voice shaking. _'WHAT HAVE YOU DONE? YOU _IDIOT_! Gods, now she's going to be TEN times WORSE!'_ Ron cringed inwardly. Unfortunately, his brain was right. If Hermione was a Nazi before, she was going to be the king of Nazis – Hitter or Heifer, whatever his name was.

"Well, I suppose that would work. You're the only sixth year I would be tutoring –" Hermione said, and suddenly warning bells went off in his head.

"Woah, woah, back up, Hermione. If we're going to work together, we're going to work _together_. No tutoring bollocks; we were at each other's throats constantly. You saw me as your inferior."

"Well, technically, you were."

"_Were_ being the key word there. If we're going to do this, we're going to be equals, right? You don't treat your other tutor-ees like you do me, so why don't we just start over? Think of it as a two-person study group where one person is frighteningly smarter than the other, who has crap for brains. Deal?"

Hermione thought it over, weighing her options. Ron knew he was the one who benefited most form this arrangement, but Hermione wouldn't have confronted him the first time if she wasn't getting anything out of it. Whatever that was, it must have been very important to her.

"All right," she sighed, probably a bit reluctant and unsure of her decision. "We'll meet on Friday nights at seven."

"Just like before?"

"Yeah."

"All right, I'll meet you then, Hermione," he said, turning and walking toward his dorm. He was practically bursting inside. Hermione agreed! Hermione agreed! And once more, he got her to agree without yelling, begging, or getting his blood pressure past one-sixty.

"Why do you do that?" Hermione asked softly behind him.

Ron turned his head halfway around, trying to conceal his glowing smile. "Do what?"

"Why do you call me Hermione? Nobody around here seems to know that I have a first name." She chuckled, with hurt laced in her usually beautiful laughter.

Ron turned around this time, connecting their eyes. He wasn't afraid to hide his lopsided grin, but he did tone it down. But she was afraid of his gaze and stared at the floor. "Well, nobody knows you have a middle name either, Hermione Jane," Ron whispered close to her ear, a laugh emerging from his throat.

Hermione's head popped up in surprise as he turned to his dorm, awed and confused. Ron couldn't help but imagine the angelic smile left in his wake. His heart skipped a beat at the memory of his gorgeous best friend, and his heart pulsed harder in his chest, anxious to see it again.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

_Thump!_

_ Ron stood up, trying to steady himself from his very long fall. He attempted to adjust his eyes, but he was surrounded by total darkness. He waved his hand in front of his face, hoping he would see it, but to_ _no avail. _

_ "I hate this bloody dream," Ron said aloud, waiting for light to pour in, revealing the Chamber of Secrets. But when the light didn't come, he tried walking around. The room, or whatever he was in, was completely silent, except for the echo of his shoes against the cold stone. Since the light still didn't come, his brain adapted to the black, and, gradually, he could hear . . things. He could hear people whispering behind him, then a rustling of leaves or twigs snapping. Ron tried to reach out for whatever was out there, but it was too fast for him. Soon, the whispers and rustling of leaves and sound of swift movements surrounded him. They became louder and louder as he stayed where he was – and increasingly more hostile. Ron made a mad dash from wherever he was; it wasn't safe. The whispers were gone, and only the sound of his footsteps and heavy breathing filled his ears. He stopped for a moment – and again the whispers came. Ron ran again, unsure of where he was going or what was out there or why he was there in the first place._

_ He stopped a few more times, and every time the whispers came back. He couldn't outrun them; they were too fast. He tried to ignore them, but they filled his brain, driving him to madness. Suddenly, a sound of hope broke through his head, fighting off the whispers. Someone was crying softly – hardly loud enough to hear. It wasn't the most thrilling beacon, but nonetheless empowering._

_ "Hello?" Ron called out to the sobbing person. The crying was so quiet and the voice grainy; Ron couldn't tell if it was a boy or girl._

_ "Who's there?" called out the person in a raspy voice. "Where are you?"_

_ "I don't know. Keep talking, so I can hear the sound of your voice!"_

_ The person talked, softly, but still talked. He strained his ears to find her, but her voice echoed and surrounded him. How was he supposed to know where to find her? All of a sudden, an idea struck him. Ron fumbled through his robes for a wand and lit it with a forceful, _"LUMOS!"

_ The person shrieked when he lit his wand, while Ron only cringed at the light. It burned his eyes._

_ "A light! You have a light! Come towards me! I can see you!" cried the little girl, and Ron realized he knew her voice._

_ "I don't know where you are; you have to come towards me!" he called out._

_ "Oh! NO! They'll get me if I come out there! I'm safe here! Please, come to me!"_

_ Ron desperately searched for a solution. The girl wouldn't leave her spot, and it would take him _hours_ to find her. Light revealed his whereabouts; perhaps more light would pinpoint her direction._

_ "Little girl! When you see a burst of fire really close to you, tell me! Okay?" Ron called, sifting through his memory for Hermione's bluebell fire spell. The little girl didn't call back; Ron could only guess her voice died in her throat. He cast the spell right in front of him. No answer. He cast it slightly to his right. No answer. He cast it to his direct right, no answer still. He cast it slightly to his left. This time the girl squeaked. Ron tried directly to his left._

_ "Now! It's right in front of me!"_

_ Ron ran around the fire and went toward the girl. He produced fire along the way, so she could tell him if he was going in the right direction. She didn't say anything; she didn't make a sound. An extremely small beam of light revealed itself in the distance – too dim to make a significant indication of her location. Ron barely saw it himself and most likely wouldn't if his intention wasn't to find the girl beneath. As bright as a tree's shadow on a sunny day or the dying embers of a once roaring fire, yet the ray's power exceeded its intensity. How so? He wasn't sure, but intuition hadn't failed him yet, and would it ever? He would have to wait and pray it never would._

_ He stepped past the barrier of uncertainty, closing in on her refuge, her sanctuary, the wall of light that kept her from harm. He saw, as he advanced, the fire that was her hair, the white of her naked skin, the figure of an eleven-year-old girl in her true form, despite the appearance. Ginny._

_ Trembling hands, a furiously beating heart, a cold sweat as his nerves sensed a hope rising within him. If only it were her, if only it were as simple – but dreams were nothing but simple. Dreams, a paradox of complexity and purity, frankness and vagueness, a mask and nudity, brilliance and stupidity, good and evil – one dream represented the world as it was; though the world had physical restraints_ _dreams did not, dreams had restraints – the restraints of the dreamer's mind, and the mind itself was a world of its own._

_Ginny's beautiful chestnut brown eyes widened as he walked into the light. She was awestruck for a moment – a moment that felt like an eternity. It was one of those moments when time stopped – a moment when you saw someone you loved for the first time in months, years, forever. Moments like this left the body a slave to an energy-stealing, mind-numbing shock. It was a shock – an emotion – a love intensifying the senses, so the soul could absorb a love a person's whole being desperately craved. _

_ "RON!" cried the little Ginny, and she threw herself on him, drinking in her brother. Ron held her close, unfazed by the coldness of her body or the whiteness of her face or the loneliness etched in every line of her soul's drawing. She cried into his shoulder, crying with the vigor the girl couldn't have possessed only a second ago. It didn't matter where he was, how he got there, or how real this dream felt – just that he was with his real sister._

_ Ron put his large cloak around her small body and looked up at the small light coming through._

_ "What's that?" he asked, staring up at the miniscule hole above his head. "Where are we?"_

_ "I'm not sure. I think I know, but I'm not sure. How did you get here?"_

_ "I was – I am dreaming," Ron replied as a feeling of surrealism formed in this stomach. "I think. . . ."_

_ "Well, I think I'm in my head, and if you're with me, then you are too. How'd you get into my head?" _

_ Ron laughed inwardly at the frankness of his eleven year old sister. She really hadn't changed – or at least in his mind. "I'm dreaming."_

_ "What a funny thing to dream. You dreamt yourself into your sister's head? How do I know you're really here? I dream just like you, except everything around me changes. I can't dream in my head, since I'm already here, but how do I know you're not a dream?"_

_ "How do I know you're not a dream?"_

'Blimey, this has to be a dream, it's the strangest dream I've ever had – it actually makes sense!'

_ "How do I know you're not? I certainly feel real to myself – I'm sure you do too. So how'd you get in my head? That takes a lot of – of – of – dark magic," she whispered hurriedly, fearful of those words._

_ "I don't know. Ginny, what's that?" he said, changing the subject to something that would be hopefully less confusing._

_ "Oh, that! That – well, I'm not quite sure what that is. I don't know how to say it. But the black – that's Tom Riddle's mind, and that hole is where I've broken through. It's not very big. Not big enough, anyway. I didn't get through until a few months ago, for the first time anyway. That was because of you. It takes me a while to get enough strength to fight, and certainly much longer to get the courage to do it. The darkness is scary, and I can't see what might be out there. I don't know how long it took me to finally break through, but I know it was a really long time, but now it seems like a blur, like it never happened, you know?" _

_ Ron nodded dejectedly, knowing perfectly well it wasn't his sister's fault. He really didn't like Healers now. Fat load of rubbish they were. _

_ "Every time I tried to break through, Tom would rise up, and I was stuck in a nightmare again. I tried to wake up, but I couldn't and it would go on for hours. I don't understand why I finally broke through – I guess Tom just ran out of energy. Well, I did, and I suppose that's a good thing, right, Ron? I get stronger faster, and I gather courage faster too. I know that I'm winning. It won't be very long until I'm out of here – longer than I'd like, but I know I'll get out. Mum talks to me all the time. I can hear her through my hole. I only know some of the things she says, since the hole is so small. But I make it bigger, so I can hear more of Mum and more of Dad and see more sunlight. I can't see anything through my hole right now, but I will soon! It doesn't matter right now, though. I can see you, all of you. I love you, Ron," Ginny said happily. Ron's heart soared when he saw his talkative sister, listening to her as she talked a Quidditch pitch a minute. _

_ "Ginny, I'm really proud of you. I wanted to tell you that ever since I saw you that first time. I wanted you to know that. I'm proud of you, Baby Gin, Baby Gin, mermaid with a rainbow fin, youngest red of the Weasley kin, jumps in the water – so watch her swim. Ickle Gin, ickle Gin, sometimes so fickle, does everything at whim, fights with punching and kickles, but squeals when she's tickled!" Ron said and tickled her sides mercilessly. Ginny squealed and scampered away. Ron pulled her back and ruffled her hair._

_ "Ron, you bugger, I don't like that poem! Don't call me that!"_

_ "You know you like it," Ron said, nudging her with his elbow._

_ "Fred and George made it up - _gits_."_

_ "Charlie helped, didn't he?"_

_ "No, he just teased me, so he's a git too."_

_ "I teased you with it; does that make me a git?"_

_ "Yes. Bill made you stop, so Bill isn't a git, but the rest of you are."_

_ "But Bill made you do his chores when you were younger – he made me do them too. So does that make Bill a git?"_

_ "Yep, Bill's a git too."_

_ "What about you? You're the baby, you never got in trouble, you always framed us when you did something wrong; does that make you a git?"_

_ "Yep! We're all gits, aren't we? Ron, when'd you get so smart?"_

_ "Well, I'm a sixth year, Gin. Didn't Mum tell you?"_

_ "No. You mean I've been in here for four years!?" Ginny exclaimed incredulously. _

'Oh, shite!'_ Ron thought as his sister's eyes unfocused and tears were in her eyes. "Ummm . . . actually only three and a half," he_ _said nervously, running a hand through his hair. He didn't think it helped much._

_ "What happened to Colin and Geneva and Luna? How are they?" Ginny asked in a rush._

_ "I don't know about Colin and Geneva, but Luna is fine," Ron said, then felt something pulling at him, his physical self. He was waking up._

_ "Ginny, I have to go. Keep fighting, and I'll do anything I can to help."_

_ "Do you have to leave? I like having you with me; it gets so lonely! C'mon, Ron, please?" Ginny said, giving him her puppy-dog face._

_ "Gin, I'm sorry; I can't. I'll visit though."_

_ "You promise?"_

_ "I can't promise it, but I'll try. Bye, Gin," Ron said, then kissed her cheek before consciousness took over and he saw the stone ceiling above his bed he'd come to know so well._

"Ron? C'mon, i's time to wa'e up. C'mon, claaaaaaasses, i'iot. Git the bloo'y he-ll uuuuhhp!"

"I know, you bloody arsehole! Shove off!" Ron said, rising from his wonderful, warm bed and throwing a pillow at the back of Harry's head. Harry, still dumb from sleep, tripped forward, stubbing his toe. Ron whooped for victory out loud, shutting the door as Harry flung his pillow at him.

Seamus, as much of a morning person as himself, told them to, "Shut their effin' cake holes, or get a taste of some Irish fist and his foot up their arses." A drunk at Christmastime couldn't compare to the hilarity of Seamus in the mornings, especially if the Irishman was suffering from the aftereffects of a major pissing.

As Ron showered, the conversation with Ginny invaded his thoughts. He had to help her; he promised he would, but how, though? She was at St. Mungo's, he at Hogwarts. His visit – if he actually did visit her – was completely random; he couldn't ensure a second. Suddenly, as if the droplets of water from the showerhead turned into brilliance and showered his mind with clarity, Ron remembered that Dumbledore never destroyed the diary – and Tom Riddle's memory still resided inside of his sister. She couldn't – no, wouldn't – escape if there was someone stronger fighting against her. He could save her energy and time by doing what should have been done long ago.

_'How could I forget something like that? Merlin, I'm so stupid! Stupid, stupid, STUPID!'_ Ron thought, then remembered the fire. _'That's no damn excuse; she's your sister, for Merlin's sake! YOUR SISTER!'_

Pound! Pound! Pound!

"RON! OPEN THE BLOODY DOOR! I HAVE TO SHOWER, TOO!" Harry called, followed by the loud threats of one ticked off Irishman.

Ron dried off, and threw on a dressing gown and slippers in record time. He opened the door and pulled Harry with him down to the common room and out the portrait hole. He couldn't waste another second – not when his sister was locked up in her own mind.

"Ron, let go of me! Oh, um - good morning, Professor Flitwick! Ron, LET GO! We're running through the school, you in your dressing gown and me barefoot and half naked! We look like fools, and someone's going to give us a detention!" Harry whispered heatedly, as they passed a very flabbergasted Flitwick and some seventh year girls.

Ron heard what Harry was saying, but chose to ignore him. His sister was worth expulsion, and that wasn't exaggerating.

"Oh, good morning, Ronald; good morning, Harry. I have to say your attire is wonderful – rebel against Umbridge and the institution! Why, I'm surprised I hadn't thought of it, soo – ooooooooh, where are you going?" Luna asked, maintaining her pace with Ron.

Ron heard Harry mutter, "Damn!" under his breath.

"I was just saying that I'm surprised I hadn't thought of that sooner. Why, we could start rallies of disrobing. We could get the whole school involved."

Harry stared at her incredulously as he walked alongside Ron. He had apparently given up on escaping the clutches of the tallest Weasley boy. "WHAT? I'm not running around the school bloody starkers!"

_'Why not?__ You're already doing it anyway,'_ Ron laughed.

"I meant wearing anything but protocol robes or even Muggle clothes. It will be wonderful!"

Considering Luna wore a necklace of Butterbeer corks and earrings of radishes, pebbles, weaved grass blades and everything in-between, Luna in Muggle clothes would be a frightful sight. She would probably scare away the first years and Fang the Cowardly Boarhound.

Ron made a sharp turn on the deserted second floor corridor and entered Myrtle's loo, while Luna went on about the rallies, and Harry was just as confused as ever and probably cold.

Harry looked around and tried to get out, but Ron glared death at him. Harry stayed put as Ron examined the room. Nothing had changed at all. The toilets were flooding from Myrtle's shrill sobs. She must've heard them come in and charged out of her toilet.

"What are you doing here? You're not girls! Hello, Luna, you're a girl. But you two aren't!"

"Oh, go cry us to death, Mopey," Ron said harshly and went over to the sinks to look for the faucet. Myrtle shrieked and jumped into the nearest toilet. _'That's right; go spy on the boys in the prefects' bath; just leave us alone.'_

"Oh, you two know Myrtle? I come in and talk to her sometimes, but she loves to listen about the heliopaths, snorkacks, nargles, and how the ministry is full of idiots. She says it makes her happy to know other people are miserable and stupid. She's got a brilliant sense of humor," Luna said, walking around with Ron in a daze.

"Right, Luna," Harry said, edging away from her and toward Ron.

"Ron, how'd you know Myrtle?" Harry whispered as Luna went to stand in the sunlight seeping through the window.

"You – er – told me, remember?"

"No."

"Well, you did," Ron replied and went back to the faucets. "Where is it? Where is it – YES! Here it is!"

"That tap doesn't work; it never has," said Myrtle in his ear. Ron jumped at least ten feet in the air at the sound of her voice.

"I know that! Harry, c'mere. Say 'open' in Parseltongue."

"Why?"

Death glare.

"Right; open up," Harry said monotonously.

"English."

"Open up."

"English."

"Open up!"

"English."

"OPEN UP!" Harry yelled, really trying.

"English. You know, yelling at the bloody piece of metal isn't going to make it listen to you," Ron said, leaning against the sink.

"You know what, Ron? I don't need this right now. I've got enough going on in my fucked up life to give a damn about all this. I mean, why the hell did you drag me down here anywa – WOAH!" Harry yelled, backing away from the snake Ron conjured. "WOAH, WOAH, WOAH!"

"Say open to the bloody snake, Harry," Ron said in a deathly calm.

"Hhasssissss ssshhsss hacarssss! Hhasssissss ssshhhaasss hacarssss! Hhasssissss ssshhhaasss hacarssss!" Harry yelled, and the portal to the Chamber of Secrets opened. Ron turned the snake back into the tie for his dressing gown. His gaze never left the pipe leading down into the Chamber.

"Woah," Harry said as the three looked into the dark depths leading deep beneath Hogwarts.

A feeling of complete déjà vu filled Ron's mind. He felt a fear – the same fear he had when he knew his sister was down there, the same fear he had when he first stared into the pipe – the fear of an unknown place and an unknown future. But now Ron was faced with something much more frightening – the fear of an unknown past. Ron waited for someone to go first. He certainly wouldn't do it – he didn't take action like this – well, not much. Sensing nobody else would, he walked over to the pipe and sat at its entrance.

"Right, you two follow right after, got it?" Ron confirmed, and they meekly nodded their heads, probably still in shock. Ron took a deep breath and slid down. It was as if the twists and turns led him back to second year, to the emotions and the determination. He wouldn't fail; Harry didn't fail him last time, and it was Ron's turn to protect his sister – as he'd done all his life.

He slid along the flat bottom of the pipe and fell into a puddle in the small stone tunnel, quickly rolling out of the way of the other two. Harry arrived just after him and was standing up as Luna came tumbling down herself. Ron tried to warn Harry, but he wasn't fast enough. Luna pummeled right into him, knocking them to the ground.

Luna quickly got up, ignoring Harry's foul mood, apologizing and helping him up. Harry shoved her hand away and stood up himself. The three headed down the tunnel. Ron remembered the dead basilisk skin and searched for any telltale signs of life. Nothing. They worked their way back, back, back, farther than Ron had ever been before, past the old cave-in spot, and to a solid wall with two intertwining snakes. Harry approached the snakes and hissed for it to open.

As they stepped through the crack in the wall, fire exploded in their torch holders, brightening the room only enough to see. It was just as Ron saw it in his dream – down to the very last detail. The columns, the floor, the water, the glowering, massive head, the ceiling, even the outline of a rotting basilisk corpse. They all had to keep themselves from vomiting when the smell first reached their noses.

"Oh, bugger, that's disgusting!" Harry said, covering his nose with his hands. "What is that?"

"I don't know. What exactly are we doing down here? I'm sure you didn't just want a go down the pipe, Ronald"

Ron walked into the chamber, not taking his eyes from the giant snake. "We're looking for a black, leather-bound diary."

"A diary?" Luna asked, still fixated with the Chamber.

"Yeah, you know, a book you write your feelings and experiences and crap in?"

"I know what a diary is, but why would it be down here?" Luna asked, as she ran her hand along one of the stone columns, but it hissed and nipped at her. "Brilliant. . . ."

Harry didn't hide his contempt for Luna, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, what'd you do? Leave it down here?" he asked, pausing from his conjuring of some shoes. Barefoot and bare-chested – _'Oooh, he's got to be bloody freezing!'_ Ron thought.

Ron threw his slippers over to Harry as he replied, "Something like that."

Even Luna looked shocked.

"Just look, please? Harry, you take that end; Luna, you take the middle; I'll take Salazar's statue," Ron said, heading toward the far end of the Chamber.

"It's actually quite nice in here. A bit spooky and smelly, but quiet and private. It's a secret place, and the details Slytherin put into this place is incredible. Why, I could stay here for days, just searching for more secrets. It's called the Chamber of Secret_s_, so I'm sure there's more than one secret besides its location. Oh, my! Look at the ceiling; it's got all these different kinds of snakes on it! This is _wonderful_. Oooooh – that snake just ate the other one! Brilliant. _Lumos__ azure!_" she said as her wand lit up a brilliant blue color.

"Oh! I didn't even notice this! Why, it's a – a – _basilisk!_" she said, approaching it, but quickly recoiled. "Yes, it's a basilisk, and it's rotting. Oh, I wish I had my camera, or something to take back with me. Isn't it lovely? Absolutely _gorgeous_. I knew they existed, but nobody believed me. Oh, if I could just _touch_ it," said Luna in a motherly fashion, very proud and fascinated.

Ron was somewhat surprised, but quickly reminded himself that he shouldn't be. Luna was usually very calm and rather strange, and her fascination was some strange form of excitement. He also realized she probably said things she didn't mean when she was excited. Who would want to touch that disgusting, disfigured, maggot house?

"Do you think the fangs are still in its mouth?"

"Umm, Luna? Could you look for the diary?"

"Oh, all right," she said evenly and turned away just as if the basilisk wasn't even there.

"Luna, why is your wand light blue?" Ron asked.

Luna muttered something under her breath and it turned white.

"Excuse me?"

"Why was your light blue a moment ago?"

"What are you talking about?" she asked, cocking her head to one side.

_'Damn, she's a good actress!' _ "Your wand light – it was – um – blue."

"I think the basilisk fumes are drugging your brain, Ronald," she sang in her dreamy voice and went back to searching for the dairy.

They searched for what felt like hours, but maybe that was just the cold feet talking. Ron was about to give up – maybe something happened to it, or the Basilisk ate it or something, any explanation – when he saw the broken reflection of light in a puddle. The diary lay soggy and almost completely destroyed. He shouted for glee and searched for something to stab it with. Nothing.

_'How'd Harry do it again? Oh yeah, the . . . fang. Shite!'_ Ron thought and headed reluctantly towards the basilisk's mouth. It shouldn't be too hard freeing that thing. _'Here it goes.'_

Ron sucked in a rotten breath and ran for the head. The smell was one hundred times worse than Snape's storeroom, and he could hardly keep his eyes open. Prying the fang out of the basilisk's mouth, he then ran back. He splashed some of the water in his eyes, hoping it wasn't cursed or poisoned. He just had to relieve the stinging and wash away the filth.

The three gathered around the diary; the fangs lay on top of each other like some sickeningly romantic sculpture of pure evil. Ron didn't waste any time. He picked up the fang and drove it through the diary – spraying them all with ink. Ron got most of it in his face, Harry on his pajama pants and chest; Luna, the lucky girl, stepped back just in time.

"RON! YOU RAT ARSE! YOU DIDN'T BLOODY TELL US THAT THING WOULD SPRAY ALL OVER THE DAMNED PLACE!"

_'Yeah, well you didn't tell me either, prat.'_

"Why don't we go? As lovely as this place is, I'm terribly cold, I'm getting faint from the basilisk, and you accomplished what you needed to, didn't you, Ronald? Right."

The three headed out, Harry shivering, Ron shivering and sticky, and Luna humming quietly to herself. It was only once they were almost out of the chamber and crawling up the pipe that Luna actually spoke.

"Ronald, if it's not too much to ask, may I have the fang?"

Ron obliged, blissfully happy. He only knew one repercussion of the journey back into the Chamber, and that was his sister was free after years of imprisonment. What he didn't know was that he was free too, free from a life where he was a secondhand boy – transforming into a first-rate leader, a man all should be proud to follow.

Ron sat outside next to the lake one cold, January night. The winds breezing past Hogwarts nipped at his skin, turning his cheeks rosy red and his lips chilling blue.

They all received detention for skipping class, and Filch punished Ron for dragging ink through the corridors, Luna for having a deadly weapon, and Harry for walking half-naked through the school, blue and shivering. Bloody maggot.

Ron shook away the punishment and the confusion and everything in-between as the Giant Squid surfaced from beneath the depths of the lake to splash and play. The setting sun in the distance lighted the grounds for the last time before the day died and it came again to greet a newly born one.

It was times like these when he missed home – the other world – but he was a bit more confident he would get back soon. He had already fixed one thing; how many more would he need to fix? It would take time, but if his time in this reality taught him anything, it was nothing came without work. And he still couldn't scrub away some of the ink stains. Life – this new life – was getting better every day, and for the first time since September, he was happy – relieved – confident. But there was still something he wanted: an answer.

A question lay untouched in the back of Ron's mind; he feared the answer – yet craved it so badly it gnawed at his brain, wanting release. This question he couldn't answer; this question he couldn't ask; this question he alone would never understand. Would any man ever know the answer? Could he know it?

A part of Ron screamed no person ever would – only Fate would.

"Hello, Ronald," said the familiar voice of Luna Lovegood. "You're thinking, aren't you? I find that sunsets are excellent subjects for brooding. I often wonder wha –"

"I'm not thinking about the sun, Luna," Ron replied, laughing on the inside. She really was the strangest person he'd ever met.

"Oh, is the subject of your thoughts palpable? I often find looking at the object makes thinking much easier and more enjoyable. My thinking time is late at night, but if you prefer sunsets –"

"No, Luna, it's just nice out," Ron sighed amusedly. "Wait – you set aside time to _think_ every day?"

"Well, yes, don't you?" she asked as if it were completely normal.

"Uh, not really," Ron replied. He was having a Luna moment. He tried to be open-minded since he owed her as much for helping him. But if he talked too much with Luna, eventually her oddities scared him.

"Ronald, you went there, didn't you?"

"Went where?"

"In the other world, you went there – in the Chamber of Secrets. I always knew it existed."

"Yes and no. I went in the cavern, but there was a fall in, and I was stuck. I couldn't go forward with Harry. You have no idea how much I wanted to, how much I wanted to save Ginny. But I was stuck with Professor Blonde Nitwit. But when I saw her come through the rocks and Harry follow, I was overcome with a relief and joy I'd never known before. You can't imagine how I felt when I knew she was alive and well. I can't even picture what this Ron saw, what he felt – I don't know if I could've handled it."

"I remember when I was told Ginny wouldn't come back. My mum died just a year and a half before, and my dad didn't want to send me away. But then I found Ginny – someone I knew – someone who could help me through the pain from my mum. But when Ginny left, all those old sorrows – and plenty of new ones – arose. I was never more devastated in my life. My mother was gone, my best friend was gone, and I could only have my father for a little while before coming back here," said Luna.

Ron could hear the tears in her eyes, and for the first time, he heard the Luna she hid from the world. The human Luna. He knew Luna was open, but he'd never heard her _this_ open about her mother before. Harry told him about Luna's mum, and as a neighbor of hers, it didn't come as a surprise. But what was really astonishing was how Harry, for the first time, was optimistic about something – even if that side didn't come out much, he still saw the good in darkness. Luna's natural optimism must have rubbed off on him, but she didn't sound at all optimistic now.

How much could one person actually change in the world? How could so much ride on just one small decision?

"Luna, is this world real?"

Luna seemed to understand his bizarre question perfectly, as if it were an ordinary, run-of-the-mill thing to ponder. "I don't know. It feels real, but I often wonder. Ever since I suspected this whole situation, I can't stop thinking about it – sometimes indirectly, of course. But the maybes always tell me it's not."

"I'm not sure. It _feels_ real, but so you can feel wind, even though you can't see it. Or a shadow – you can't feel a shadow, but you can see it."

"You think this world is a shadow instead of another real thing?" she asked simply, and Ron nodded.

"Everything _feels_ real, but the Fates can control one world; couldn't they just make another?"

"I'm sure they could, but time and space are very complex – as you know. I could very well be a shadow of _your_ Luna, with a different past. This life – this reality – is the only one I've ever known. . . . I remember living; I remember feeling; it's a part of me."

"What if Fate just made you think you really had those things, but you never really did?"

"'What ifs' – they're absolutely brilliant. The answer to _any_ problem is 'what if.' Honestly, Ronald? I don't think anyone will ever know if there are an infinite number of realities or just shadows of a single one. There's really no way to tell. You're one of the few who's been given the gift of Sight. You can See other worlds – other possibilities. What I would give for that. . . . You can see the 'what ifs' normal people can't even imagine! You've been given a gift – treasure it."

Ron didn't think this was a gift. What was he supposed to get from this? What had he got from it? Nothing. He might have learned a few things – but they were only unspoken morals put into action. Nothing more. What had this world done for him?

"There is a chance there's no such thing as reality," Luna started, staring out at the descending sun in a loving way. "They all exist, but we can't know for sure. All we can be sure of is what we know. I know I exist because I can feel it. You know you exist for the same reason. As far as you know, you could be a shadow of another self."

Ron swallowed, thinking about what Luna was saying and what he felt. He did feel alive and existent. How did he know he wasn't a shadow? He could feel it in his soul. He didn't just have experiences and memories or feelings and evidence he existed – he knew it with every fiber of his being that he was more than a shadow – that he was real. The whole feeling was surreal. The fact he was just another Ron out of billions or trillions? What made him different from others? What made Hermione different from the other Hermione?

Why was he himself?

"I think we're all real – only points in time have diverged, creating many other worlds. Because of people like you, Ronald, we come to know what could be and what is. You can change us. You can change yourself. You alone can change anything. You have the knowledge. You're our _messenger_.

"The question of reality isn't what's real, because is there anything truly _real_? We're all real to ourselves, and that's what's important. Nothing is impossible, Ronald. Nothing is improbable.

"We're all connected by one thing, and we'll have that _much _longer after death. It creates the individual self out of the other Rons or Lunas, yet it unites the worlds – no matter what reality they're in," she said slowly, smiling to herself.

"What's that?" he asked, turning away from the now dark sky. Ron discovered something that night about Loony Luna Lovegood . . . that she was bloody brilliant, even if she was odd.

Luna turned to him, smiled, got up and walked away. Ron stared after her as she spoke, shattering the silence of the night with two simple words:

"Our choices."

Sorry it took me so long to get this new chapter up. isn't my home site so I tend to forget about it or am just too lazy. To tell you about my progress, I'm about half way done with chapter 12 and hopefully it will be posted (maybe not HERE) by the end of August.

If you'd like to read the next chapter, go to – my pen name is AngelicAshley. If you can't get onto checkmated (as one of my reviewers said), then hold tight for a while. I'll get it up when I can.

Olivia Frost

P.S. If you have any recommendations for a good R/H story, pass 'em along! I'd give you cookies :D

P.S.S. Whoever came up with the "quick edit" feature on should be given a million bucks and a dozen homemade chocolate cookies and a pan of extra gooey brownies.


	11. Chapter 11: Chess

* * *

The Troll

By Olivia Frost

Chapter 11: Chess

* * *

_January 16, 1997_

_Dear Mr. Weasley,_

_We are pleased to inform you that your sister, Ginevra Weasley, has now not only regained consciousness, but also any trace of her illness has vanished. She is fairly weak, she will suffer from mental trauma, but with time, she will be back to normal and very healthy. We congratulate you on your sister's miraculous recovery and we wish you and your family well._

_Sincerely,_

_The Staff of St. Mungos_

_Healer Adahin Grand_

_Kent Kouden, Head of Permanent Spell-Induced Mental Injury Ward _

* * *

_January 19, 1997_

_Dear Mr. Weasley,_

_ Your request to leave Hogwarts for "family related matters" has been denied, as it is against school and ministry regulation (Educational Decree Number Thirty-Four) for any student to leave the school premises for any reason. _

_Sincerely,_

_Dolores Jane Umbridge_

_Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

* * *

Ron left the common room the next Thursday night in search of bushy, brown hair with a girl attached. Knowing Hermione, she would be surrounded by a large book fortress in the library. Harry was at Occlumency, hopefully lashing out all his pent up anger on Snape.

Ron hoped Harry killed the slimy git – or put him in the hospital wing, at least.

Ron felt bad for Harry. He'd been more distant and angry every since he found out about the prophesy. But how could Ron blame him? During fifth year, Ron and Hermione worked together to help Harry through hard times; they agreed to be there when he needed them if they could – and most times they could.

The real Hermione helped Ron with his own problems also. He had tried not to be selfish last year, but he wanted things – he needed things too and if having six siblings taught him anything, it was to know what you wanted and do everything you could to get it before somebody else stole it. That's why he wanted Keeper so badly. Not just because he liked to play Quidditch, but because it was one of the few things he could have for himself.

Now he was stuck in a world with only a vague idea on how to leave and his reason for being there was just as clear. Luna made it sound like this situation was a gift or an opportunity of some kind. Ironically, she never came out and told him anything of much use. Of course, one had to remember that it was just Luna.

Ron didn't know what to do about his predicament with Harry. What was right? He knew he should help his best friend. It wasn't as if Harry's resentment was new to Ron, an entire year of dealing with it prepared him for certain situations, so that obviously wasn't the problem. But he didn't know how to deal with this particular one at all. Ron, in his devotion to Harry, had vowed never to leave his friend alone with his thoughts. On the other hand, Ron wanted to go home. If he wanted to go home, sacrifices had to be made. The question was if his best mate would be that sacrifice. Furthermore, if Harry was not the sacrifice, then who was?

All Ron knew was that Luna had given him a shining, tiny glimmer of hope that would not fade away. Luna gave him not just hope but selfishness as well.

Ron spotted Hermione in the back of the library, surrounded by a assortment of open books. She appeared irritated with her long hair falling on the page and into her face, while the frequent dips in her ink well told him her hair wasn't the only annoyance. He tried to act casual, pretending to sift through the foul smelling student resources while his mind planned a clever excuse to pull her away from her work and get her talk to him. That task alone was difficult, but as "tutor-talk" could only sustain itself for so long, libraries were places of silence, he didn't want to nor was prepared to study, and he didn't want to irritate her more, options were limited and the task became nearly impossible. Ron knew he had to understand her better. Not being Hermione's friend was obviously bad, so being her friend had to be good. Plus, Luna told him to and she was the only person he could actually trust right now.

He came to wonder what the hell he was doing in the library. Embarrassment was preferable, glaring was likely, and square one was not a place he wanted to visit again. Square two was just fine. But then of course, square three was even better than square one or two. He would brave it.

He would think about braving it – maybe even consider doing it.

_'Chess. . . . Chess. . . . Chess. . . . Chess. Chess? This isn't like bloody chess,'_ Ron thought as he watched her. _'Chess is bloody easy! Chess has pieces and rules, chess doesn't have very pretty girls who can yell at me or make me want my mum. But then, of course, my mum is a girl too. They're sodding everywhere.' _

Ron's legs moved, of their own accord, to her table and he sat down. Hermione glanced up then back down to her paper. Ron's body and mouth – obviously braver (or at least stupider) than his brain – uttered a spell and not three seconds later a new inkwell came zooming into his hand.

_'Well, at least it didn't hit me in the head or smash on the floor,'_ Ron thought, silently wondering how the hell it got out of the Gryffindor tower in the first place.

"Um. . . Here," Ron said holding the well in front of her face. Hermione took her eyes away from the parchment and looked at it dubiously.

"I didn't curse it or anything," Ron said, opening the new well and taking away the old one.

"Er, thanks," she said softly and dipped her quill, then continued. Ron cringed, not taking his eyes from her. He really hated these awkward moments.

She continued to write her essay, ignorant of Ron's presence. Her hair kept falling into her face and onto the parchment, smearing the wet ink. Hermione growled and pushed the hair away again. She again dipped the quill into the new ink. He watched as she referenced back to older parts in her essay, and a neatly written outline sticking out between two pages of a large book. She dipped her quill again, a curl fell onto the paper, and she pushed it away, and then dipped the already wet quill again. She picked up another book of similar size, and laid it neatly on top of another, almost perfectly aligning them. Ron wondered if this was intentional or not – it seemed strange.

Dip, hair, dip – again and again.

It was rather amusing.

The awkward silence slowly dissipated and he found himself comfortable watching her little movements. He never noticed them before . . . but then, of course, he had never just sat down and watched his friend before either. She bit her lip occasionally, sometimes at the inside of her cheek and rubbed her fingers against her lips. When she was thinking, her eyes never strayed upward, occasionally to a book, but mostly stuck to her essay while she drummed her fingers on the table and brushed the quill feathers against her eyes and cheeks, or even sometimes her lips. Lips that were probably very. . . .

She moistened them every so often and some small part of him looked forward to that. Her lips – neglected and dry, were then suddenly healthy from moisture and red from her bites and the pressure. There was no feeling, no rhyme, or reason to it, there was no ulterior motive, and there was no attraction… he was over her. But he looked forward to seeing that tongue, the red, wet lips; it was the strangest thing he had ever wanted.

Suddenly, as if by some strange force, as if Fate decided, Hermione's eyes strayed upward, uncharacteristic of before. She flushed a bit under his unwavering gaze and tried to avert her eyes away, but appeared drawn back to his penetrating stare.

Ron found that he liked her blush. He liked it more than when she moistened her lips, or when she pushed her hair out of her face and then dipped her quill. He liked how her eyes weren't angry or suspicious but humble and nervous. He liked the fire in her eyes when they rowed, but there was something else in these eyes. Fire? Ice? Fear? Happiness? It was hidden, just like her mind, but was still there, waiting to be discovered.

"What-what is it?" she asked. Her voice was different. Not commanding, not assertive, not aggressive, not hateful, nor annoyed. Her voice matched her eyes, humble and nervous.

God, he liked to make her blush. That blush was… indescribable. He wanted to make her blush again and again.

"Do you want me to get anything for the session tomorrow?"

"N-n-no, no, I've, um, got it all. I-is there anything else you, um, wanted? I-I re-really must finish this before my uh-uh-um-other session tonight," she said in a rush, tripping over her words, breathing heavily and still very flushed. She really appeared to be trying hard to avoid connecting their eyes.

She couldn't.

Ron grinned a bit and left his chair, while Hermione muttered about an outline.

_'Chess…charm. Luna said I have charm. Um… right. Charm. What the hell is charming? Oh damn! Chess. Chess. Chess! She wants the bloody outline, Weasley, so give her the outline. You're turning out to be as thick as Goyle's head and neck combined.'_

Ron turned around and reached across Hermione, opening the book, and revealing her outline. He brought his hand back, _accidentally_ brushing it across her shaking fingers and catching a touch of her bushy hair. Hair that felt familiar. The same hair Ron remembered from his reality, his home.

Hermione didn't thank him, instead just shrunk back into her working space, still attempting to hold her gaze away. Why was she being so shy? Hermione wasn't shy. Not shy at all. She did mutter her thanks quietly as he turned away, leaving her to her studies.

Ron walked out of the library for an early night's rest. An extremely stupid grin had molded itself to his lips while a plan secured itself in his mind. He didn't even notice the third year rummaging through his book bag, muttering about how damn inkwells just didn't disappear out of nowhere. He could only see Hermione with very rosy cheeks, pink lips, hair falling in her faces, and a secret in her eyes.

It all felt so familiar – too familiar.

* * *

_Ron looked down a few chairs from his workstation to where Hermione was diligently preparing her potion. Her face was flushed and rosy from the steam rising from the cauldron, while her hair fell into the beetles she was slicing. She bit her lip in concentration; perfectionism requiring she make every little slice to be exactly the same width. She licked moisture onto her red lips. Ron only wondered what she was hiding beneath that hair - behind her brown eyes. He saw it in them earlier. She confirmed it with her mouth. Those eyes teased him, those words mocked him, and she had a secret. He had to know it. Oh, he wanted to know it so bad. He had to know it and was nothing short of an obsession now. Maybe if he caught her off guard. . . ._

_ "Hermione, who are you going to the ball with?"_

* * *

She canceled it. She canceled the damn session. Ron couldn't be more frustrated.

She showed up fifteen minutes late, with some excuse about already having plans. Her words were all jumbled as she stuttered them out. She was nervous, her eyes and lips told him. She was rushed.

_'Probably off to meet some wanker,'_ Ron thought in a huff. He took the opportunity to play chess with Harry, who was looking a bit dejected. Ron purposely let Harry kill all of his pawns because he knew his friend was enjoying smashing his pawns into bits but, by tradition, Ron didn't let Harry win. Harry never won, and would only feel angrier if he did. Harry knew the only way he would win was if Ron let him.

Besides, nothing was better than a game of chess.

The next day passed about as quickly as a snail creeping along a cliff. Some of the Ministry workers watched Ron's double Defense class, so everyone had take notes on Professor Hart's lecture for three hours. After the new rules were posted in the common room that morning, it was discovered that off classes on Monday and Friday afternoons were now study periods.Curfew changed to eight o'clock, the common room was reserved for studying and quiet activities, and, in addition to the monitored corridors rule, there was no conversing allowed. The only place Ron could talk to Harry was in class or their dorm, and Hermione – well, class was it. Time with the opposite sex was very limited and conversing between the houses was almost impossible. Nothing was secret in Hogwarts anymore. Ron half expected ministry workers were spying on them in their dorms as well. Sure, they could go outside, but with the frequent winter rains, it wasn't the most comfortable situation. The Great Hall was also an option, but nothing was secret in there either.

Privacy was nothing but a fantasy now and freedom was a passing wish.

Ron came in from his flying practice that Sunday night realizing just how much he missed his broom. Sure, the school ones were all right, but his broom was his own. The cushioning spell molded itself to his body. He knew how to fly it so he could go higher, go faster, and turn sharper. Most of all, it was something that was not only his, and new. The school brooms were old and they weren't his. He missed his broom.

The common room, in contrast to the cold, quiet afternoon, was bustling with activity. The monitors tried to keep everyone calm, as the common room wasn't a place for noise, but almost every Gryffindor student congregated around the bulletin board. Ron tried to see what the hullabaloo was about, but there were just too many people. He stepped back after a fourth year smashed his foot and told him to bugger off and wait his turn. Ron glared at the kid, wishing he had his Prefect badge.

He moved to sit on the sofa, along with a few others who were waiting patiently as well. Some left the mob, looking very nervous, some seething, some looking annoyed, but most were talking rapidly with friends about the injustice of Umbridge or why she was doing this. Ron's curiosity was piqued. He wanted to know what in the name of Merlin was going on.

His ears caught a few fourth, or were they fifth, year girls arguing the morality of Umbridge's plan. Umbridge's plan? What were they on about? His eyes and ears followed the girls and their conversation, until his eyes caught another interesting sight.

Hermione and Dean were in the corner of the common room, in what looked to be an attempt to hide themselves in the shadows. Their voices were hushed, but the tone and rapidity of their conversation indicated that they were arguing. But their faces, which Ron caught vague glimpses of, told him they were more anxious, excited, or worried than argumentative. Ron continued to watch them. Dean, the filthy blighter, caressed Hermione's upper arm, and she smiled up at him in return.

That smile did him in. He'd seen that smile many times before, in his reality. _His_ Hermione laughed all the time. _His_ Hermione's eyes always… Well, they had something in them that was a combination of ten million different lovely things, underlined with something that nobody else could take away and nobody else ever had. Her eyes, though a ordinary brown, always radiated some kind of feeling. It wasn't light, it wasn't color, or fire, or intellect. It was an emotion that strictly belonged to Hermione. But it was her whole presentation that told him what her eyes couldn't say. Curiosity, intellect, awe, thankfulness, and one feeling few people saw in her: Playfulness. Hermione was a very playful person when the time was right and the person was too. It was _his_ Hermione there with Dean. His vision went fuzzy, his mind went blank, but the sounds around him became much clearer.

Ron shook away his thoughts, just in time to notice Hermione and Dean's discrete parting. Their exchange was rather quick. So quick that Ron was surprised he caught it himself. They must've been worried that, perhaps, someone would catch them? What was with the secrecy?

Ron turned away from them. The last thing he needed was Hermione becoming angry at him for eavesdropping or something. Plus, he wanted to avoid the embarrassment of actually watching her in the first place.

He waited a while longer for the students to dissipate, so he could have his look at the mysterious cause of such hoopla. It was a paper. A very long roll of parchment with the name of every Gryffindor student fifth year and above scribbled across it, with an introduction at the top.

_Attention students:_

_ At the beginning of the term, a program to help steer students in the right direction toward their careers and adulthood was announced. As part of this new program all fifth, sixth and seventh year students will be required to fill out a questionnaire and meet with one of the ministry members for a proper directing of goals in a comfortable, easy, safe, and equal environment. Your questionnaires will be handed out and completed on Monday's current events class. Have them completed to hand in at your interview. The interview times are listed below._

Ron found his name at the end of the roll. His meeting was set for that Saturday at two in the afternoon with a man named Gerald Tursk in the Transfiguration room.

* * *

_ Please fill out this questionnaire in large, neat print. This is important and will help determine what the Hogwarts staff can do to help you accomplish your career goals in a comfortable and appropriate environment._

_1. Name In full. (Sixth years, please include parent/guardian names as well): Ronald Bilius Weasley, Arthur Weasley and Molly Weasley_

_2. Age: 16_

_3. Gender: Male _

_4. Date of Birth: March 1, 1980_

_5. Year: 6th_

_6. House: Gryffindor_

_7. Height: 6' 3 ½"_

_8. Weight: 13 stone_

_9. Hair colour: Red_

_10. Eye colour: Blue_

_11. Blood Line: Pureblood_

_12. Generations of wizardry: B.M._

_13. Desired occupation: Auror_

_14. Completed OWLS: Yes_

_15. Number/Desired number of OWLS: 8_

_16. Mark average: A/E_

_17. What makes a good learning environment: A good professor, good partners, an interest in the subject, and respect._

_18. What makes a good professor: Their Respect of students, full knowledge and passion for the subject, understanding, caring for students, love of job, and willingness to go past just a day teacher._

_19. What makes a good living environment: A nice room, nice people, comfortable bed, clean (enough), and nice things._

_20. What do you require to reach your full potential: A Good teacher, good study materials, and comfortable environment._

_21. On a scale from one to ten, (one being the lowest, and ten being the highest) your skill level as a wizard is: 7_

_22. What would you . . . ._

* * *

When Ron headed to the library that night (not particularly enthusiastic about more schoolwork, but Hermione would be there, and she would probably bite her lip in that, erm, way), the feeling of isolation was strange in the deserted corridors. He half expected Mrs. Norris to turn the corner and catch him in the midst of some wicked deed.

_'Remember chess. Remember, be smooth. Remember to watch her, get to know her. Be observant. You know… sensitive. Chess. Smooth. Observant. Sensitive. Chess, play it like it's a game. She makes a move, counter it with your piece. Chess. Got it. Smooth. Don't make an arse out of yourself, be nice. Be clever. Just please don't make an arse out of yourself. Observant. Ummmmm, right. Sensitive, right. Be a tablespoon. No a bathtub! Settle for a sink or even a showerhead.'_

The monitor tapped his card with his wand as he entered the library and he scouted out for Hermione. She wasn't in her usual spot. He turned around to search the aisles of books. Where was she–

_WHAM!_

Ron stumbled back a few steps but the person who collided with him, being considerably smaller, fell to the ground.

_'Right. Smooth doesn't work. Just don't make an arse out of yourself again and you'll be fine. Oh yeah, sensitive and, um, nice. Nice. Chess. Oh damn, this is too much!'_

Ron helped Hermione back up. She was flushed and out of breath. It appeared she had been running.

"Sorry. Sorry. I'm sorry, Weasley," she said in a rush, as Madam Pince shushed them.

"Are you all right?" Ron asked, as she brushed off her skirt.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine. Listen, I hate to do this again, but I can't make it tonight. Something urgent came up," she said hurriedly, shifting from one foot to the other and, again, avoiding his eyes. She licked her lips then bit the lower one. Ron smiled.

_'Wow! Um, do it again. Do it again! Do it agai- SHUT UP! Chess. Queen. Chess queen. Lips. Chess, chess, chess. Chess. Smooth, observant, sensitive. Red lips… CHESS!'_

"I really must be off." Before he could get in a word edgewise, she had done just that.

"All right, but you, erm, don't need help?" Ron said softly, the fact that she was already gone processed too late. _'Smooth Weasley. Next tim, ask her if she needs help before she's on the other side of the room. She probably thinks you're an insensitive git. You weren't supposed to make an arse out of yourself. Bloody lips.'_

This inner beating only produced a mental image of one bushy-headed girl and her very red, healthy lips and rosy cheeks. Also, stirring desire to see them again, to see her again.

This chess thing really wasn't working.

* * *

The next day greeted Ron with the usual gray clouds and drizzle upon the cold, dormitory window. Ron headed down to breakfast while Harry received some well deserved sleep. The Great Hall was practically empty, except for a few early birds. Most students slept in on Saturday mornings.

Hermione was already there. Not surprising. A fairly large book was distracting her from her cereal, which lay uneaten and abandoned in front of her. Ron wanted to sit down next to her just like he would have in his world, but she looked so absorbed that it would be a perfect opportunity to watch her. Luna advised to get to know her, understand her. As much as he knew Hermione, this one was different. It was like a puzzle where he only had the border completed.

Plus, if there was one thing he knew about both Hermiones, it was that she hated being interrupted when reading.

The minutes passed, both his and Hermione's food grew cold, and the occupancy of the Great Hall increased. She didn't eat. She stirred her cereal absentmindedly. Her eyes, the same eyes he'd seen so many times, looked different. They widened and narrowed, creating creases on her forehead, in what seemed perfect harmony with the words of the book. Ron anticipated her blushing or shifting her eyes, but her mind was so focused on the story, nothing else in the world seemed to matter.

If she was reading one of those bloody romance novels again there would be a "_burning in his stomach."_

She laughed every now and then, frowned as well, looked about to cry a few times, and even looked curious and confused, but only once or twice. Ron only wondered what kind of book made someone feel that many emotions within only a few pages.

As more students filed in, bringing an inevitable noisiness with them, Hermione turned away from her book, and left. Ron followed her, not entirely sure why. What was so interesting that he would actually turn down a meal? What was so interesting about a girl reading a book. A girl who considered reading more vital than breathing?

_'Maybe it's the girl,'_ his subconscious told him, but he shook it away as if it were one of the millions of raindrops that fell on his head. She made her way out onto the grounds, Ron following behind.

Hermione knocked on the door to Hagrid's hut, made her way inside, and Ron stood there for a minute or two, waiting for something to happen.

Ron took his soaking self back inside, thinking about a special breakfast from Dobby. Only Dobby wasn't there. Dobby was with the Malfoys and Ron wasn't in his proper place either.

Harry was still sleeping when Ron got back up to the Gryffindor tower. Suddenly the chill and weight from his clothes made him very tired and his bed looked warm and inviting. He stripped down fully intending on catching a nap, but then Harry awoke, and his bed was so very far away.

* * *

"Mr. Weasley, you're right on time. Please take a seat," said an average-sized black man with a thick Irish accent. "Right, let me just look over that parchment – hmmm. Before Merlin? Well, Mr. Weasley, you did say that Hogwarts was a fine school. What could happen to make it great?"

The kids whom had already taken their interviews had warned him of this. The interviewer usually started with pretty easy questions, but they steadily became more difficult. Everyone seemed in agreement that almost none of the questions were the same. The questions were, as students had said, pretty personal, but many didn't want to talk about what had happened in any sort of detail. So Ron basically went in with a sense of confusion, anxiety, apprehension, and a bit of fear.

"Um," Ron started, unsure of how to say what he knew he wanted to say. "More privacy. _Almost_ our every move is monitored and it's a bit… strange. Well, also –"

"That's fine, Mr. Weasley. Now, I know that the new program is difficult to transition into. Would you say that you disagree with this program?"

"Well, yeah. I suppose the classes are fine, but I don't like being so confined."

"So you're used to more freedom?" Gerald probed.

"We all are."

"But, according to your record, you've had problems in the past with rule-breaking. Do you feel that these new restrictions are helping or hurting your troublemaking nature?" asked the man, staring at Ron intently.

_ 'What the bloody hell . . .?'_

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"Do you think you are more or less of a problem student than last term?" Gerald asked, his voice very strict and demanding.

"I don't think I was ever a problem," Ron said incredulously. Sure he got in trouble a few times, but a problem student?

"Your record and attitude right now begs to differ. Now, you mentioned earlier that the current events classes were 'fine.' What do you think could make them great?"

"Well, our opinions are basically ignored. The professor is too strict and basically, tells us what to think. I don't thi–"

"So you have a problem with authority? That would explain your behavior," muttered the man as an afterthought.

"Wait a tick! I don't have a problem with my behavior and for a class that discusses current events, shouldn't we be able to actually _discuss_ them?"

"Hmm, Mr. Weasley, why exactly do you dislike the lectures? Do you not agree with them? Or are you just a difficult student?"

_ 'Difficult? I'm not bloody difficult! I'm not great like Harry or Hermione, but I'm not difficult.'_

"I think I'm an average stude–"

"Mediocre means _average_, Mr. Weasley. I think you answered my question."

Ron ground his teeth, but continued, determined not to argue with a person who was trained as a second Umbridge. No, he would just have to ignore it.

"I think I'm an average student and don't agree with all the _ministry_ standpoints. Issues have different angles."

"Obviously someone has been jumbling up your mind, boy. The ministry is teaching you what is right, so you won't be confused by whatever else you hear," Gerald explained, scribbling on a parchment titled "evaluation."

Ron's eyes darkened and he glared at the man. "The only angle I hear is the one where the ministry benefits."

The man's head snapped up and he cocked an eyebrow. "Do you have a problem with the way this country is run?"

"Only when the ministry is controlling our lives and tells us what to think."

"We know what's best for the youth."

"Really? Thinking for ourselves sounds best to me," Ron hissed.

"You are still young. You do not know what's best for you. You're evaluation is done, Mr. Weasley. Good day."

Ron knew he had already said too much. The ministry was already targeting his family, the last thing it needed was to have valid proof that his family was, in any way, going against Fudge. The idiot would probably accuse them of treason now.

There were two facts pertaining to the ministry. First, they were too powerful and too controlling and second, as long as it was that way, Ron had to at least give the impression that he wouldn't cause waves. Harry caused waves and look at what happened to him.

Katherine Zearr, a seventh year, asked him how it was.

Ron didn't want to talk about it.

A distraction came into view when Ron decided that watching Hermione again, even if it was wrong and probably sick, was better than the damn ministry of bloody fucking magic.

_'You're going to get caught! She's going to yell at you, you know that, don't you?'_

Ron pushed Hermione's voice out of his head. The persistent little voice of his cautious, rule-following best friend back in his own reality somehow had made her way into his mind in the past few years and would pop up with her nagging every so often. His pursuit of Hermione through the corridors and into little crevices of large rooms or havens of smaller rooms soon became tiring. Through his continuous observations he realized he liked something about her, something about her made him want to watch her, but nothing distinctive that could help him came out. Nothing to clue him in on what she was thinking, what she wanted, how he could understand her better. Hermione once told him he had the emotional range of a teaspoon; maybe his observational skills came in the same dosage.

He didn't like following her around, but she wouldn't talk to him, or even tolerate his presence, so how could he understand her better if she was telling him (in a rude, but wholesome way) to sod off? He couldn't. It was just uncanny to watch her like this, strange and perhaps unnerving. Not only could he be caught by her at any given moment, but that nagging voice of hers kept telling him that it was wrong, that it was practically stalking her! Ron decided that if setting aside his discomfort and compromising his values and even his morals was on the right path to getting him home, he would do it. He would do a hell of a lot to get away, and if, well, following Hermione around was the hell he had to do, then so be it.

He got suspicious looks from the monitors at the room entrances, but he gave them the Sod-off-and-mind-your-own-business look. They never asked, he never told, and in return they didn't tell either. Call it a hunch, but Ron guessed these monitors hated their job, and reporting something like this would have meant more work. It was their job to stamp his bloody pass, check for the transportation time in the corridors, and tell rowdy kids to shut up. It was probably the dullest job in the world, next to shoveling Dragon manure or editing "_Slugs in the Wizarding World – Second Edition." _

Ron walked into the common room about three o'clock, an hour after his interview started. Harry wasn't there, which meant he was probably still outside, brooding. Before the interview, Ron had offered his help, a joke or two, and a bit of company as he sat with his best mate. When Ron noticed he had to leave and announced it, Harry got angry with him. Ron offered to skive off the interview to throw rocks into the lake and piss off the squid, but Harry told him to go. Ron, knowing full well that Harry wanted him around, sat down. Harry again told Ron to go away and that he was annoying. Then he yelled at Ron to "get the fuck away from me!" Ron may have not been the most observant or emotionally sensitive person around, but he knew how to read his best friend and although he didn't want Ron to leave, he wanted to be alone. More often than not, Harry didn't say when he wanted company. No, he just dropped hints, something Ron picked up on after years of being Harry's friend. Harry wanted to be alone, and though experience told Ron that leaving his disgruntled, bloody messed up friend alone was not always the best of ideas, he had no choice.

He now slipped into the Gryffindor common room, right behind Hermione. She was carrying a few books, but nothing compared to her average weight load of a baby hippogriff. She set her books down on her usual table, but sat next to the window, heavy raindrops hitting its glass. Ron pushed a first year off the couch and took her spot with the white chess pieces. The girl huffed off as Ron tried to concentrate on Hermione, while pretending to play an inconspicuous, innocent game of chess.

The little brunette girl he had kicked off the couch was walking up to where Hermione was writing something in the book Ron'd seen her carry. Hermione was very sweet, and somewhat maternal to the little girl as she pointed back towards Ron. Hermione's face scrunched up in annoyance and glared at him, just as Ron averted his eyes back to the chess game. He could feel his ears burning with a blush.

_'Shite! Look innocent! Look innocent!'_

"Weasley? What are you doing?" Hermione said, crossly.

"Having a go at tap dancing. What does it look like I'm doing?" _'Good job, Weasley. Piss her off – that'll help.'_

"Oh, so it's not enough that you have to shove a little girl away from a game she was playing with her friend, but now you're taking advantage of a little boy, too. Whatever you're playing, stop right now. Did he try to take money from you, Dominick?"

"No, Miss Granger, he just came over here and pushed Maggie out of the way. Then he watched you for a little bit, before Maggie went over and told on him. I think he was angry or something because his whole face got really red. Even his ears!"

_ 'Kill me now! Please, just kill me now!'_

"Thank you, Dominick. I'll see you tomorrow, right?" Hermione said, guiding Ron pseudo-gently out of the little girl's seat.

"Yeah, I'll have the paper done too," the boy grumbled and Maggie sat down across from him.

The two kept staring as Hermione led Ron out of the common room, showing her badges and assuring the monitor that it would only be a moment. The two little kids laughed, and Dominick gave the ever-famous "_you're going to die_" gesture as Maggie stuck her tongue out. Bloody midgets.

The corridor was as cold and eerie as ever. The sound of pounding rain outside echoed through the thick stone walls. It must have been pouring cats and dogs out there for there to be that much noise. Tomorrow's morning class with Hagrid was going to miserable.

"Who do you think you are? Hmm? Do you think you can just push people around in order to make room for your little urges? Well, you've got another thing coming. Mistreating Malfoy is one thing, mistreating innocent first years is entirely another! I'm serious. Where do you come off?"

"Well…I just…um," Ron stuttered, but Hermione barked at him that it was a rhetorical question.

"And another thing, I want you to stop following me around! Yes, Weasley, I know you're stalking me like some kind of animal. Oh, don't act so surprised. You're lousy at tracking. Following me around like you do is just upsetting, all right? I don't like it, thank you very much. It's rude and rather frightening. Why would you just spy on me like that? Hmm? Honestly! What's so important about me that you have to pursue me like some kind of dog? I don't like it. I don't want you to do it anymore, so STOP! And another thing. Why don't you just leave me alone? I may be your tutor, but that's all I am and I don't care about what's going on in that seemingly empty brain of yours, but banish whatever thought made it all right to stalk me, or even be near me without my consent. I don't like you. I only tolerate the fact that you need help with schoolwork. I'll treat you with as much respect as you give me in return, but only during and for professional purposes. Otherwise, you leave me alone, understood?"

Ron didn't answer; he just smirked to himself and walked away. He wouldn't consent to leave her alone, he couldn't if he wanted to get back to his own world. He obviously couldn't follow her around any longer either. Well, he would just have to do the famous Weasley six and seven tactic of tagging along wherever she went, except perhaps the loo.

It took a few days to get his plan into action. Plan Childhood was fairly simple, perhaps the opening gambit of that chess game Luna was alluding to? No, he couldn't think about that. It would only confuse him more. Plan Childhood was a good plan, but certainly not the only thing he could do to win her acceptance. Hermione, as Hermione was, liked schoolwork, and was particularly proud of him when he accomplished the accio charm. If, dare say, doing schoolwork would at least put her nastily long claws away, then so be it. There wasn't much of a choice in the matter and desperate Weasleys will resort to almost anything, even something as stupid and painful like schoolwork. Of course, this was a last resort, but Weasleys liked to try every option first in awful situations. No doubt about it, this was an awful situation.

Hermione was reluctant to take her eyes off him. His first attack would have to be a surprise one. She stuck close to places where he couldn't strike, or walked quickly, fleeing from him. He never followed her, he had promised he wouldn't. He would just have to wait for the right opportunity. Damn it! It was difficult.

But on Friday, his Friday with Hermione, Ron finally got his opportunity. She was walking to the library after classes, with hands empty. A very strange occurrence for one Miss Granger. Ron cocked an eyebrow and ran after her. Ron hated to leave Harry like this, but he had said he was going to the Owlery anyway to write to Lupin. Apparently, Lupin and Harry were closer in this world than in the real one. Ron was still reluctant to leave Harry still, but Harry had assured him that it would be fine.

Hermione was fiddling with her cloak, as she walked quickly out into the cold. It wasn't raining, as it usually was. No, everything was just dead. The air was windy and cold.

Hello, Hermione," he said, running up behind her.

"Weasley," she said with smug disdain. She instantly reminded Ron of Mrs. Malfoy or his mother when he or his siblings messed up.

"I…just wanted to know what you wanted me to bring tonight," he said, cursing his unimaginative brain for not coming up with something different.

"Oh, nothing. I've got it covered."

"Oh, all right," Ron said. She didn't want him to bring parchment or quills or anything? Suddenly, it occurred to him that she was heading outside. "Where are you going?"

"Why do you care?"

"Just curious."

"No you weren't. You're acting even more strangely than you were a week ago," she said and sighed in exhaustion. "Listen, Weasley, I'm really tired of playing games with you. If you want something, ask it, otherwise, please leave me alone."

Ron, sighing in defeat, turned to leave. His brain, unable to dig up any questions to ask her, really felt just how difficult this was. She wouldn't talk to him unless it was school related.

"Weasley?" she said quietly and Ron turned around to face her. Was she actually making a move to talk to him? The small smile he caught on her face was restraining itself from grinning fully, but the eyes above it were soft and unrestrained. "I read about your sister in the Prophet and, well, congratulations. I hope she's well."

"Thanks."

Although the grin on Ron's face was a mindless gesture, his mind was whirling.

* * *

Hermione was already there when he arrived at six fifty-five. He was rarely on time for anything, but it wouldn't be easy changing his "bad reputation." Although, she could've been warming up to him. She did give Ginny her blessing. He didn't know why that was such a feat. Although, he didn't understand why she was so wary of him in the first place, but, then again, he didn't know what the other Ron had treated her like. Even if he was horrible to her, the caring part of her came out earlier.

She was sifting through a few books, looking slightly anxious. Her eyes, he could tell, were scanning the page quickly, and her hands seemed detached from her body, like they were controlled by something else. Her mind seemed to be off at some far away place, like Jupiter or wherever women's minds went when they weren't on Venus.

He sat across from her, greeting her with a hello, her returning it with a squeak of surprise.

"Don't sneak up on me like that!" she hissed, accidentally crumpling a page in the older, thin-papered book.

"Right, erm-"

"Right, right. Sit down!" she said quickly, shutting the book and setting it next to her chair. "All right. What are we working on today? Potions? Transfiguration? Charms? What?"

"Potions. An essay on the ancient Celtic studies about the effect tides had on potions." Ron replied, quickly. "Trust Snape to give his students the most impossible topic in the history of wizardry…" Ron muttered to himself, but apparently Hermione heard him.

"Honestly. It's really not that difficult."

"All right. Take out your things. I'll help you revise some essays."

"Um, I don't have any essays."

"None at all? But we have that essay due on Monday for Potions!"

"That's the one I need help with. . .," Ron said, sheepishly.

"You mean you haven't even started it yet?" Hermione asked incredulously. Ron blushed even harder. "Wonderful. Take out your quills and ink. We'll start on it right now."

"I thought you didn't want me to bring anything," Ron replied, the session was becoming worse and worse by the moment.

Hermione stared at him in complete and utter disbelief. "What on earth made you think that?"

"You told me not to bring anything."

"Oh for goodness sakes, Weasley! Even if I said that, you don't come to a tuto- study session without work materials! Fine. I'll just stay here and work on my homework; you can borrow some of my materials. Go check section 22 and don't be long if you want my help with actually researching and writing. I don't have all night."

"Granger, remember our deal? We act civil to one another?" Ron said, twirling one of her quills.

"Oh, yes. Right." She, at least, was ashamed enough to blush.

"Right, I thought you could help me find things for the essay and help me, um, write it?"

"I am helping you; I told you where to find the books. I'm certainly not helping you by telling you which ones. Honestly, if after six years you're so incompetent at research that you can't even find books when the section is handed to you do you really expect me to make things easier on you by just telling you? Is that what you were expecting? Hermione Granger would just let you copy or do you expect me do _your_ homework for _you_?"

"Civil? _Remember_?" Ron said slowly, feeling his frustration rise.

"Yes, yes, I _remember_, Weasley," she replied, the effort to remain polite was obviously strenuous. He could hear it in her voice. "Since, you obviously can't go into the library without any help…" she trailed off, sarcastically.

They made their way to section 22, the history section. Ron's head began pounding, though he wasn't sure why. He tried to make conversation, or at least say _something._ There was a strange awkwardness about them. He hated those silences more than anything else. Except perhaps Malfoy or being poor or his family on most occasions or Voldemort or the cow that took over Hermione's body or, well, actually there were loads of things he hated, but awkward silences with Hermione, especially Hermione, were at the top of his list.

"Just look for anything related to potions and Celtic chemists. Try not to make a mess, all right? Oh, don't drop any, either." She spoke, her words a bit condescending.

He glared at her scathingly, reaching for a book. "I'm not going to drop –"

_PLOP!_

"– anything," he finished lamely and Hermione gave him a very annoyed and _very_ pointed look, not even attempting to hold back a huff. Ron cursed himself and picked up the book he had dropped.

They worked for minutes under that same silence. Except for the sounds of others in the library, Hermione flipping through the pages, and the sounds Ron's rather large feet made on the wood, they were completely quiet. Ron hadn't found anything, but he still wasn't quite sure what he was looking for. They bumped into each other, walking up and down the small aisle. Sometimes he stepped on her feet, or she backed into him. On one or two occasions, he accidentally smacked her when reaching for a book, but she, in turn, elbowed him in the ribs, or knocked into him when standing up from off the floor. With each harsh touch, each researcher would become more and more aggravated. Ron was sure she had stopped trying to watch out for him and was now hitting into him on purpose. She suggested they each stick to their own side of the aisle, and Ron was more than happy to oblige.

Ron sat down on the floor, scanning the bottom shelves, when he heard Hermione hopping up and down. She was trying to reach the top shelf. Ron stood, setting down the book he was looking at, to retrieve her book. Just as she went to retrieve the stepping stool, Ron grabbed the book from its spot. When she saw him with the book, she huffed and took it from him without a word, then stepped on the stool to look at the books more closely.

Ron, banishing the imaginary line between them, looked with her. He seized books that looked interesting, just for Hermione to take them back and put them in their place. He tried again. She wouldn't let him. So, he tried another book. Not that one either. He moved far enough away that he was out of her reach. He should have known that Hermione wouldn't let the laws of gravity stop her. She stretched out to steal the book away from his grasp, but in doing so, let gravity and she stumbled off the stool.Ron dropped his book and caught her by the upper arms. His hands must've been sweaty because they slipped and, like Ron's book, Hermione toppled to the floor.

"Oi! Sorry. Hermione? Are you all right?" Ron asked, kneeling next to where she was sitting and rubbing a nasty bump forming on her head.

"I'm fine. Just don't touch me!" she said nastily, moving away from where Ron was trying to look at the bump on her head.

"Sorry. I was just trying to help! C'mon, let's just go back to the table. I think we have enough books," Ron said with annoyance. He tried to help her up, but she refused, standing up too quickly and again loosing her balance. Ron steadied her when she tumbled over. For a brief moment, he caught a glance in her eyes. They were more watery than usual. The fall must've hurt her more than he thought. She pushed herself away from him and picked the books up off the floor, avoiding his gaze.

They walked back to their table. A girl purposely and quite violently ran into him, knocking him to the side. He stared down at the girl. He instantly recognized her blonde hair decorated with peacock feathers and large, blue eyes.

"Bishop!" she whispered energetically, her face maintaining its oddly dazed appearance. Ron cocked an eyebrow and she repeated herself with more vigor. "_Bishop_!"

Then she ran off, her peacock feathers bouncing up and down.

"What the bloody hell…?" Ron muttered to himself.

Ron took his place across from Hermione at their spot, she was still hiding her face from him, but a small glimpse of her blushing cheeks told him everything he needed to know. She was embarrassed, but, moreover, her hands were shaking, and her breaths were deep and quick.

"What exactly were you doing?" she asked him, after he had sat down.

"Sitting down?"

"No, no! In the aisle! I thought we agreed to stay on our own sides," she explained. The irritation was evident in her voice. _'Bloody hell, this girl could give Harry a run for his money in how often she's angry! Is there anything she isn't offended by?'_

"Oh, right. That. I thought it would go faster if both were searching the top shelves," he replied, blushing a bit under her glare.

"You should have just stuck to your side, or I wouldn't have fallen down!"

"_What_? You're kidding right? Oh, because you and your little fetish with books on the right shelf had nothing to do with that, right? Or was that arm that kept stealing the books from me not yours? Funny, I saw it attached to _your_ shoulder, or are you telling me that's not yours either?"

"No need to be sarcastic. You should've just worked in your own space rather than coming over and stepping in on mine. What was so bad about our first agreement?"

"The fact that you're short, Miss Hoppity-Hop."

"Oh, honestly! That had absolutely nothing to do with it! I was fine working until you came over and decided that I wasn't doing a proper job and took it upon yourself to do it for me! Did it occur to you that perhaps, I looked over there?"

"Did it occur to _you_ that your jumping up and down is damn annoying?"

"So, I'm annoying, then?"

"When you're jumping up and down, yeah!"

"I didn't _need_ your help! Is there something wrong with your brain that you seem to think I'm completely helpless? That I'm incompetent at taking care of _my own_ tasks? 'Oh, yes, let me help you, Damsel! You're not tall so I have to retrieve the books for you! You're falling! I MUST catch you!'" Hermione said, deepening her voice a bit and trying a very bad imitation of Ron. "Oh, and never mind the fact that you _dropped me_!"

"I thought you didn't _want_ my help," Ron retorted.

"Well, yes, but if you're going to purposely annoy me and cause me to fall down, the least you could do is _catch_ me!" She snapped back. "It's a wonder you even made Keeper for Quidditch…" she mumbled as an afterthought.

"Right, so now I'm a bumbling fool whose responsibility is to catch you every time you forget something called gravity? The next thing you'll tell me is you lose your free will because my presence performs some kind of Imperious on you and somehow that's _my_ fault. Oh right, it is!"

"Honestly! You just don't understand that I do not _need _you! You think that being sarcastic and rude is any way to help your case here? Really, Weasley. I'm not insane. I'm not a child, I'm not helpless, and I'm _certainly_ not stupid, so where do you get off thinking you can treat me as such? Whatever happened to agreeing to be nice to each other? You know that deal we made when I agreed to tutor your sorry bum?"

"If that isn't hypocritical! You've been nothing but rude to me when I've only tried to hel – when I've been nothing but nice to you!"

"Why, I did no such thing! Stop being immature. You asked for my help and I'm here, aren't I? It's not my fault you confuse nice with condescending."

"Condescending? You really must be mad to think I've been condescending! It's not my fault if _you_ think that by helping you, I am saying you're helpless."

"That's just what I said, idiot."

"Ah, bloody hell! There you go insulting me again!"

"Well, it's not like you've been any better!"

"I've been loads better!"

"You have not! And for someone who came to me for help, you're not being very grateful!"

"Grateful? Yes, I feel privileged to be insulted by the high and mighty Hermione Granger!"

"Don't make yourself out to be a martyr, because even if I haven't been the epitome of patience and kindness, you're not perfect either!"

"Do we have to do this every bloody time? We had a deal! We agreed that you would stop being bossy and rude!"

"And that _you_ would stop calling me names!" "We were supposed to be working together! Not you ordering me around!"

"You seem to think that you can just call me names and nothing will happen in return?"

"No, I expect you to hold up your part of the deal without going on like a child!"

"Oh, well, your not childish at all. Calling me immature, rude, and bossy. Why you're nothing but a hypocrite! A hypocrite and an idiot. You need my help, not the other way around! I shouldn't have agreed to this. All you Weasleys are disagreeable, selfish troublemakers! I can't stand you! So, why did I even agree to this in the first place. It's obvious we can't get along since you're just vulgar and rude and… just EVERYTHING I cannot stand in a person! You know, why even bother myself with such a worthless charity cause!" she bellowed in the quiet library.

Everything stopped.

Ron, who was arched over the desk in offensive stance, stood up to his full height, tripping a bit over his chair. His face was no longer red with anger. No, he was far beyond anger. His eyes, he knew, were the only indication of what was going on inside. He wasn't angry. He wasn't full of hatred. He wasn't anything except disgusted. Malfoy would say something like that. Not Hermione. Not _his_ Hermione. Not the Hermione who cared so much for him and Harry she would give her life for them. She would never say those words. Hermione knew what she was saying in arguments. She never said anything she hadn't meant to say. For his Hermione, the woman he came to respect and admire to say something so deliberate and hurtful, threw him back. He was disgusted. Malfoy could say words like that, but hearing them come from Hermione's mouth was like seeing her in cahoots with Voldemort. It was betrayal.

_ 'What did you expect, Weasley? She isn't your Hermione. She's a different person. You were such an idiot not to have seen that sooner. What? You thought that she was just like your Hermione? You thought she would never treat you with hatred? You never thought it possible. You knew she could say hateful things, but it was inconceivable that she would ever say ANYTHING like that toward you. It was only a matter of time, and you were nothing but a moron, fool to think that they were the same. They are different and nothing you do or think will change that. You were in for your own rude awakening, Weasley, and it came icy cold.'_

"MR. WEASLEY! MS. GRANGER! What in the name of Merlin do you think you are doing? THIS IS A LIBRARY! Leave right NOW!" Madam Pince reprimanded. They both gathered their things. Ron unemotionally, Hermione, well, Ron just didn't care about her. Whispers of the few other students followed them out of the library. Some with anger, some with pity, others gossiping. Only one, however, caught his interest.

"It isn't over, Stacia You know it isn't. Those two have been going at it for years and I don't think it'll stop until they're dead."

"Or at least we hope!"

Bloody women.

* * *

The essay was never finished or even started, for that matter. After the argument, Ron was too ashamed to show his face in the library. Consequently, Snape gave him two weeks worth of detention and a second assignment in addition to the first. _Git._

He and Hermione were in what Luna called "a brain lapse, followed by a toilet break." He had no idea what the hell that meant and he probably never would. Ron didn't talk to Hermione and avoided her at all costs. Consequently, the two, or was it three, weeks they weren't talking felt like ten years. He wasn't sure why it felt so long, but honestly didn't care anymore. Unfortunately, times of conflict usually went faster for him. Why was it so slow this time? Why did his life decide to go terribly slow just when he wanted it to be over with? Before Hermione's constant nagging and snide remarks, life was a little bit simpler. Although, was it nicer? That was hard to judge. Anyone with half a brain would say that this Hermione was one of the most unpleasant people they had ever met and would probably send him to St. Mungos for his uncertainty. There was something about her presence that he liked, when she wasn't yelling at him, of course.

Ron decided to spend more time with his best friend, who, although repeatedly said he was fine, Ron knew that he wasn't. Harry was going from his angry stage to his angry-and-pseudo-isolated stage. Harry really would rather have Ron around than gone and with just Harry as a companion, there was a state of, contentment? Harry's anger and isolative nature wasn't _all_ that bad when he was having a down period. The two played chess, talked, played cards, sometimes nicked the school brooms or went to the kitchens and explored the castle at night. It wasn't stressful or blissful. It was contentment. Life was going to have to be like this. Hermione was the best answer he could come up with to going home, but gaining her respect, let alone friendship, was an impossible feat.

Snape was already in a terrible mood so detention that night had to be one of the lowest levels of Hell.

"Weasley, you're late. Sit down. Your job tonight is to make a Hypnotizing Antidote and fill as many vials as you can. I trust you can do this without blowing yourself up? I have business to attend to with the Headmistress and several students. You have three hours to complete this. There will be another task here for you in an hour, as well. What are you waiting for? Three hours."

Ron concentrated on the damn antidote and groaned when he discovered that it was a very complicated potion that, ironically, depended on the phases of the moon. Snape, the bloody bastard, probably thought this some hilarious, sick sort of justice.

It took him an hour to actually equate the instructions according to the half moon, and he hadn't even started the potion. So when the second task came in, whatever level of Hell Ron previously resided in, he was now at the lowest, and the Devil decided to visit.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Ron said, full of spite. Hermione diverted her eyes, withdrawing into herself, and made her way to Snape's private storage in silence. Ron decided not to talk to her either. Sod Snape, he'd rather mummify himself than work with her again. She silently agreed with him by not saying anything on the contrary. She carried a potion in her hand as she exited Snape's storage, and Ron didn't talk to her. She was fine working on her potion, and him on his.

_CLANG!_

"OH NO!" Hermione shouted.

_'Damn it.' _

"Buggering bloody hell," she added, still talking to herself.

_'Whoa…'_

"My potion . . .," Hermione groaned quietly. Rubbing her face and pulling at her hair, she flicked her wand and banished it and all of her supplies into the sink. He could tell her mind was whirling and that she was crying.

_'Aw, bloody, sodding hell,'_ Ron thought, resigning. He wanted to hate her, but he couldn't stand her crying. Ron wanted to say something, but what was there to say?

She headed back to storage, sobbing quietly. He worked, trying not to let the fact she was crying bother him, but hell, he was only human and he did care for her. When there was a large crash of glass shattering on the floor, he ran to her, any of ill-feelings left behind.

There were two dead bodies on the floor when he came in, Hermione was sitting next to them and crying profusely. He stepped closer. The corpses, a man and a woman, he recognized as Hermione's parents. But Ron wasn't concentrating on the bodies, he was watching Hermione. Her body was shaking. She was holding herself in a comforting fetal position and her hands were white. Whether that was from shock or from the fact she was clutching herself so tightly, he wasn't sure. He approached her, and put a hand on her shoulder. She didn't move at all. He knelt down in front of her. Her face was pale, her eyes and cheeks were wet. She was trying to keep herself from trembling, to calm herself down, when only a few seconds later a new wave of tears would come.

Ron turned around to the bodies now. His eyes widened; his face blanched. He pulled Hermione to the back of the storage room, holding off a large spider. It was obvious what was going on now. He wondered why he hadn't seen it before.

"_Riddikulus_!" Ron said, imagining it without its legs again. The spider's body rolled away. Ron took the ball and stuffed the damn Boggart back in Snape's obviously seldom-used cupboard. Let the greasy git deal with the damn thing.

"Hey, you all right?" Ron asked, kneeling in front of her again. The crying stopped, but she still looked shaken up. Unable to talk apparently, she nodded.

"Damn boggarts. Don't worry about it. Snape'll take care of it. C'mon." Ron helped her up and out of the room. He sat her down next to his cauldron. Maybe the heat, even if it was just a bit, would help. He didn't know what to say that would comfort her. So he just sat next to her and rubbed her back as she cried. That's what his mum did when he was upset. She didn't pull away; she slowly stopped her sobbing.

"You all right?"

"I suppose. It was a bit of a surprise is all," she said, hiding her face behind her hair.

"Something like that would scare anyone. That's what boggarts do, you know. They scare people."

"Yes, I learned that in third year."

"Yeah. Listen, it was just a boggart, is all. Just a boggart. You're parents are fine. If you'd like, you can go owl them right now. I'd say floo them, but your parents are Muggles."

"No, no. I'm all right. Thank you."

"Um, sure. What exactly happened?" Ron asked, sheepishly. "With the potion, I mean."

"It's nothing, Never mind," she replied, trying to steady her shaky breath.

"Then why did you _curse_," Ron said quickly. He knew she would just be embarrassed for crying, and then yell at him. No, forget about the crying. "You never curse."

"It's nothing. I just have to start over is all."

"I can help you, you know, if you want. I was supposed to anyway… I think. Where is the ingredients list? Oh, could you stir that for me? Snape'll have my hide if I don't get that damn potion done."

She blushed. "On the table." He retrieved it from its spot and then made his way back.

"What was it anyway?" he yelled retrieving … yak saliva?

"It doesn't really have a name yet. It's an experimental potion," she explained.

"And Snape is making you try it out? Is he mad?" _'Hmm, better clean up this mess,' _Ron thought, banishing the broken glass and spewed supplies in Snape's storage over to the sink.

"No, it's near completed. The creators just need some people to try it. Snape was recommended, but he passed it along to me. I agreed."

"So, what does it do?"

"Well, I really can't tell you. Though, ancient Celtic studies are the basis of it. See, there is use for them after all…" Hermione teased, avoiding his eyes when he came back into the classroom. Ron grinned, handing her the jars. She smiled at his face, but then looked away, thanking him. Ron grabbed the chair in front of her and sat backwards to face her.

"Weasley? About the other day, well, week. I – I shouldn't have said that. My mouth sometimes says things I don't mean for it to say."

"You always know what you're saying. I know that for a fact."

"Not all the time. That was one of the few times I didn't. I was wrong to be so possessive and rude. I don't like to be helped, but I shouldn't have acted like that. I certainly shouldn't have called you a charity case."

"Well, I suppose if we're apologizing to each other I should've known you wouldn't like me _helping_ you. I should've caught you too and, well, respected that you wanted to be left alone. Um, so, I'm, um. . . ."

_'I'm going to cut off my damn ears. That's what I'm going to do. Bloody things give me enough grief.'_ This had to be the reddest he'd been, ever.

"I understand and, uh, thank you," she muttered, blushing herself and looking down at the jar of yak saliva in her hands. "What do you say we give it another go? I'll try if you will. You have to try to be a bit more patient with me and I won't be so… grumpy and annoyed with you all the time. You'll bring your marks up and join Quidditch again – and I, well, I'll have another recommendation to add to my applications for internships this summer."

_'Internships?'_ Ron thought. _'Is this why she's doing this? So she'll get internships?'_

"Yeah, all right," he replied, unsure of how to respond to this new information.

They smiled at each other for a moment, neither saying a word. It was strange how one moment they could be awkward, and the next completely comfortable with each other.

"Weasley, twenty points from Gryffindor! I gave _you_ a job to finish this potion and here you have Miss Granger doing it. Disgraceful! Not even three-quarters of the way through. I trust you at least finished the other?"

Neither spoke.

"I see. What in the name of Merlin could have gone on in here for three hours that neither you nor Miss Granger finished? Miss Granger, please explain. I expected more from you."

"Well, you see, professor –"

"I did it," Ron said quickly. Hermione had already gone through enough that night. Bollocks to Snape or detentions.

"Did _what_, exactly?" Snape asked, drawling out his words with agitation.

"I knocked over her cauldron, on accident."

"You stupid, clumsy boy. So why did you not start another?"

"That was me too," Ron said again. Hermione stared at him incredulously. "We were starting a second, when I dropped some of the ingredients."

Snape was practically seething at this point. Hermione was trying not to look too surprised, and Ron was avoiding eye contact, fearing fire would shoot out of the Potion master's eyes.

"Get out. Never mind the potion. It's already ruined. Miss Granger, I expect you back tomorrow to finish that potion that this foolish idiot ruined. Weasley, I'll see you in detention for another week. Just leave, NOW!"

Both left quickly, neither wanting to deal with Snape anymore than possible. Hermione, though respected by Snape, wasn't a favorite of his and the man wouldn't hesitate to give her an imperfection on her flawless record.

It wasn't until they were halfway back to the common room that Hermione said something.

"You didn't have to do that."

"What? And let Snape just yell at you? I've had Snape yell at me loads more times than you. I know how to deal with the git. Besides, the last thing you needed was Snape on your back after, well, the boggart."

"You didn't need to feel sorry for me."

"I didn't and don't feel sorry for you. I just know that when you have a rough night, verbal bashing doesn't make it much better. Oh, yeah, and Miss Granger, Perfect Prefect, Brilliant Witch, and Rule-Follower Extraordinaire couldn't have a detention. I think it might've killed her. What do you think?" Ron asked, feeling mischievous.

"Honestly! I have gotten a detention before."

"When?"

"Well, um . . . uh. . . ."

"Never. I thought so."

"Well, having a detention is something to be proud of? No wonder you get into trouble all the time."

"Detention is a sodding nightmare. But I proved my point that you're Miss Granger, Perfect Prefect, Brilliant Witch, and Rule-Follower Extraordinaire. Oh, and a bookworm. Did I mention bookworm. Mad too, since you choose to go to a form of detention, yet call it work study recommendation earning? Perhaps I'll change it to Brilliant Bookworm, Overachieving Insane and Wicked Witch."

"Those have to be the most original alliterations I've ever heard. You really are brilliant."

"I've noted the sarcasm."

"You know there's nothing wrong with liking books! Reading is a wonderful past-time," she added, bursting with pride.

"If you can sit that long without spontaneously combusting," Ron retorted.

Hermione laughed. Hermione Granger, the girl who was constantly yelling at him and making snide remarks and being a right bi – erm, ice queen, actually _laughed_. Not a giggle, or a chuckle, but a full out laugh (though not insanely so like Luna Lovegood's laughs). However, to Ron's chagrin, it left as soon as it came. She blushed, probably at the proof that not only could Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger stand each other for more than five minutes alone, but actually get along during that time. They both noted their close proximity and mutually moved away from each other. His skin was tingly, his mind was buzzing with thoughts that weren't there before, as if it were numb, yet so alive and aware of everything around him at the same time, and his eyes were unfocused on one particular thing, but seeing the entire picture in small bits all at once. It was a strange sensation. He'd felt it before, but it was still strange nonetheless. He liked the feeling of being, well, so alive, yet absent from the world. Not daydreaming. This was better. Everything felt like a drug fueling his feeling of the world, yet his mind just wasn't there. It was a high, a wonderful high.

The worst of it was… this sensation, the wonderful sensation, only lasted for a brief moment. Hardly recognizable, but the aftereffect still lingered. He was confused by the high – what was its meaning? What started it? Most importantly how would he feel it again?

The rest of the walk was awkward and silent. Though, the awkwardness had become such a constant between them, he thought, for just a moment, that there was comfort in it.

Finding comfort in awkward situations? Now, he really was spending too much time with Loony Luna.

* * *

Ron awoke in the middle of the night some days after the detention with Hermione. Detention had been more grueling each night and he wondered why the hell he couldn't sleep. Sleep usually came quickly, but each morning he awoke from the strangest dream, possibly more tired than the night before. He talked to Harry about it, trying to decipher what it meant, but neither could come up with an explanation.

It was the same dream every night. Ron was flying in his Chudley Cannons underpants, there were time-turners doing the Tango, giant chess pieces trying to squish him, and the moon kept telling him he was taking too long on the toilet and that perhaps he _should_ use his pawns. The dream, undoubtedly, was very strange, as his dreams always were. But what pulled him from sleep every morning (or in this case, night) were the dead corpses. He was in a Sahara-like desert, where the sunlight was a blinding black, and his body left a trail of ripples in the air. It was unnerving. It was disorienting. Dead corpses sprouted from the ground, like plants. Then the corpses began growing leaves, and glowing a bright green. The brains were there too. Those terrible brains from the Department of Mysteries. They were crawling along the ground, all different colors and all migrating toward a large structure. Three glowing, white rings, all interconnecting with a large rod reaching toward the sky from the top most ring.

He could only stand the sight for a split second before it burnt his eyes and he felt a sear of pain in his shoulder as if someone was branding him with hot metal.

He breathed in the cold winter air, his overly heated body feeling better, but he wouldn't be able to sleep unless he went for a walk, just to cool off. He saw his breath in the cold room. It was raining terribly. The common room, as he entered it, felt pleasant for once. It was empty; school books strewn about, and forgotten sweet wrappers lay on the floor from third years brave enough to smuggle the sweets into their mouths under the gaze of the ministry baby sitters. The fire was out, the clock said four, and everything was silent except the patting of rain upon the glass. As he made his way across the room, it came to his attention that the room wasn't, in fact, vacant. There were two others. A first year he recognized as that prat who ratted him out. Ron thought his name was Darwin, or something. The other, his tutor, but he couldn't mistake her name.

Douglas, or whatever, was snoring contently on the sofa, an arm dangling off the side, a quill in his hand, and Hermione was in an armchair. It was easy to miss the David bloke, he camouflaged right in. He was obviously Italian or Greek or something in the Mediterranean in origin. Hermione was clutching a book close to her chest. A small leather bound book he saw her carry with her from time to time. He was curious to its contents, perhaps he could just…

She moved and pulled it under her as she turned in the chair. If the fates didn't want him to have the damn thing, who was he to argue? Ron's eyes, no longer preoccupied with the contents in her hands, moved to her lips. No, her face. Okay, they moved to her face and the wonderful things _on_ her face. Her eyelashes were nice; thick to match her hair – but then so were her eyebrows. Her nose - well, it fit her. Her lips, um, mouth, well, it was nice too, um, really nice. And pink and full and – _nice_.

_'Why the hell is it so damn hot? Did someone cast a heating spell on me or something?'_

He moved closer, unsure why, maybe to look at her, erm, mouth more. It was nice after all. That's when he noticed her cheeks. They were nice too – not like her – erm, _mouth_, but still rosy even in the cold night. But this particular night, they were wet too. He saw a tear come out from underneath her eyelashes, down her cheek, and lingered on her chin before dropping onto her night gown, which was nice too. _Very_ nice as he could see the curve – yes, nice. So nice his face would've flushed if all the blood wasn't –

_'What the bloody hell is wrong with me?'_

He turned his attention back to the girl. Yes, most definitely a girl –

_'Focus, damn you!'_

She muttered in her sleep, frowning. Another tear rolled down her cheek. She fidgeted a lot in the chair, her lips trembling, muttering. More and more tears came. He wanted to wake her up, but opted to move her to a more comfortable spot. If she woke up, well, he'd deal with that later.

Ron leaned over and picked her up. Maybe her mind was so focused on the dream, she couldn't leave it. Damn lucky, sort of. He laid her down on the other side of the sofa. He didn't give a damn if her feet were on top of that midget's head, he'd just push him to the floor.

Hermione didn't awake, neither did the little git when he landed on the floor, and Ron was thankful. No explanations. She grumbled again and Ron made a decision to wake her then flee the room before she see him.

She did wake; he did run off. Well, got as far as he could before tripping over the little bugger on the floor. Hermione sat up and stared at him.

"What are you doing?" she mumbled, rubbing her eyes.

"Um – couldn't sleep."

"Oh, all right." Then she fell back asleep.

Ron, cursing the stupid unconscious kid, kicked his leg lightly, but then threw him over his shoulder. The midget didn't wake.

_'Did this kid drink a sleeping draught or something? Merlin!'_

Ron threw the idiot on his bed haphazardly, half hanging off. Ron then did the same to himself, only the hanging off part came when he was again in the land of dreams.

* * *

Ron and Harry walked in from a snow fight with Seamus and Dean. The previous night's session with Hermione went well. He was tired, she was tired, and consequently, both were a bit irritable. But considering their grumpiness, they got along fine. There were a few times when they snapped at each other, but all in all, just working to get done was a good way to spend time with her, _and_ finish his homework

Earlier Ron talked to Luna about Hermione and why she was crying that night. Luna went off on a long list.

_"Well," she said dreamily, "she could've been attacked by nargles in her dream, she could really have been attacked by nargles. Has she been acting strange lately? Hmmm. She could've been yelling, her foot could've hurt, her father could've told her she needed spectacles. Why, I would cry if I needed spectacles. She could've chipped one of her rather large teeth. She could've found out that ham comes from pigs. Why, I cried when my father told me that. She could've had a paper cut. She could've poked herself in the eye. She could've poured a scalding hot liquid in her eyes. The boy could've thrown something at her head. She could've –"_

_"Luna, could we get away from the pain?" Ron said, feeling a bit annoyed._

_"People who cry are generally in pain, Ronald. Though it could've been emotional pain. . . . Her parrot could've died, her aunt could've broken her ankle, her mother could've not sent post, she may be poor . . . what's wrong with your face? Is something wrong? No? Hmm. Right. She may be poor, she might have to leave Hogwarts, she might have failed a test, a ghost may have walked through her. She may be frustrated. She may just be sad."_

_"Why though? If you were Hermione, Luna, why would yo –"_

_"Lonely," she said simply, confusing Ron again._

_"What? Luna, you're talking in single words again! I thought no more of that. I'm not a bloody mind-reader."_

_"Oh, all right, but it was pretty obvious what "bishop" meant. . . ."_

_"Luna!"_

_"She may be lonely. She doesn't have friends here, except for Darwin –"_

_"David."_

_"Who's David?" she asked giving him an odd look. "Right, wouldn't you be sad and lonely if you only had friends with your tutees?"_

_"I suppose."_

_"So, I'm going to go play some nitchperoxulata? Care to join?" she said out of nowhere. It was Ron's turn to look at her strangely._

_"No thanks, Luna. It's a rule of mine not to play games I can't pronounce. Besides, I'm up for not doing anything at all . . . up in the common room . . . in my dorm . . . away from here."_

_"All right, but if you need help not doing anything, I'll be in my common room. I'm quite good at not doing anything. I can do it for hours at a time!"_

_"Er, right."_

Ron shook away his thoughts as he waited behind his friends for the common room monitor to stamp their passes as they entered, but then he saw Hermione surrounded by three seventh years. What was going on? Ron stormed past the monitor over to her.

"I wouldn't mind having you around. After all, you did get the attention of Victor Krum," said one of the boys, putting his hand on her leg. Hermione's own hand, gripping a quill, was shaking with fear. Ron wasn't sure why she didn't do anything, but he didn't stop to think about it. He would've cursed the bloke where he was standing, but decided to get _Hermione_ away from _them_, instead.

"Oi! Erm, Hermione! There you are! I was looking for you," Ron said, trying to sound out of breath. The bloke pulled his hand away and Ron did a victory dance in his head.

_'That's right, bastard, get your hands off her,'_ Ron thought viciously triumphant. _'I'll kick your arse from here to Rome if you touch her again.'_

"Who's this?" Ron asked, glaring at the seventh year. He'd kill the boy in his sleep! He'd send him a curse! He'd take his wand blow up his bal –

"Trevor. We were just asking Granger for help in Arithmancy." Then the boy and his friends laughed.

Oh, he would enjoy watching this wanker suffer.

"You were asking for _something_, all right," Ron said, whipping out his wand and cursing the seventh year. Trevor was pinned up against the wall, scrambling to get down. He was about the size and height of the twins – no match for Ron. The room monitor rushed over and tried to coax Ron to let the bloke down, but Ron refused. Not until he said what he wanted to say. Harry, Hermione, and Dean helped the monitor by trying to convince Ron to let him go while Seamus was cheering him on.

"Don't you dare touch her again. Do you understand? You touch her again and you'll find out just how hard I can hit after living with five older brothers twice your size. Ron flicked his wand, shaking Trevor. "Now sod off!"

Ron lifted the curse. The three tried to walk out with as much dignity as possible. Hermione took Ron's hand and pulled him out of the common room. Seamus, Dean, and Harry all asked him, "what the hell was _that_ about?" Though, Seamus said it was, "beyond brilliant" too. Ron ignored them, following Hermione into the corridor.

"Just what was _that_?" Hermione cried, wrenching her hand away from Ron. She was glaring at him, and not just any glare, but the glare that would scare off even _his_ mum. "Who do you think you are, just creating a scene like that?"

"Who am I? Who am _I_?" Ron asked, his voice rising. "I'm the bloke that just stopped that seventh year from, um, well, you _know_!"

"No, I don't know because he wasn't doing anything wrong! He was just asking for some my help with Arithmancy!"

"Bollocks! He was trying to get into your knickers. That's what he was doing!

"Honestly! He was not! And even if anyone attempted anything like that, I can handle myself," she said defiantly, staring him straight in the eye.

Her face was red with anger, but her eyes had some sort of familiarity to them. Not just anger or defiance or independence – as he'd seen so many times before, but something – well, different. Her lips, however, well, they weren't just nice, but very, _very _nice. Very red. He smiled to himself.

Before he could retort, she turned on her heel and stalked off.

"Yeah, like he was handling you?" Ron yelled after her, but when she didn't reply, Ron stopped and kicked the wall, much to the annoyance of some portraits.

"Go after her!" said a feminine voice behind him.

"What?" Ron said, searching the portraits for the owner of the voice.

"Go after her, _idiot_," said the Fat Lady again. "She's may be cross with you, but I was right here the whole time. I saw and heard everything." Many of the portraits agreed heartily with the Fat Lady.

"So?"

"You seem to forget that I am a portrait. I can go inside my tower and all over the castle. I see quite a bit, especially if you've seen her walk in and out of my hole for six years. In fact, I watch her. I know her more than you do. I'm a woman, like her, and I'm telling you to use those long legs and _go after her_!"

Ron decided not to argue with the stubborn painting and literally, ran after Hermione. He knew exactly where she was going. It was Hermione's place, her haven. Anyone, even if they only knew the bare basics of Hermione Granger, knew where to find her.

"Hermione!" he called, dashing toward the library.

With Ron's long legs and large frame, came the inability to maneuver easily and stop quickly. Unless, of course, there was something in his way. Unfortunately for Ron and Hermione, that something was her.

"WOAH!"

"AHHHH!"

They landed next to each other, Hermione landing face up, Ron face down, his cheek plastered to the stone floor. He crawled over and leaned over her face. Her eyes were shut, probably from a headache that was forming. Her eyes opened slowly, or at least that's what it felt like to Ron. She really was very pretty. Her hair was messed up, all around her while some had fallen into her face. Her lips…he really had to stop looking at them. Really. Whenever she got mad, they always brightened, they were full and lovely. What would it be like to _feel_ them . . .?

_'I really have to stop thinking about her lips. She's bloody staring right at me while I'm thinking about, well, kissing her. DID I JUST THINK ABOUT KISSING HERMIONE GRANGER?'_ Ron thought, his ears turning pink.

"Hermione!" he yelled at her. Ron knew that wasn't the best move, as he was right above her and she probably already had a headache. She pushed her hair out of her face and stood up, roughly pushing at him to get out of her way. "I, um, you can't just walk away! You think you were handling yourself, but that wasn't handling yourself. I know! I saw the whole thing!"

"Weasley, you've been a nuisance enough for one day. Go away!"

"Hermione, you're… c'mon don't just run off! You're yelling at me, you're running away, you can't be angry at me just because I shook up a bloke! I mean, he was being, well, erm…_disrespectful_." Bloody hell, his ears couldn't get any redder.

"Oh, and _you're_ being respectful?"

"I'm not trying to _take advantage of you_!" Okay, his ears _could_ get redder.

Hermione ignored him and when he caught sight of the library, he seized her arm and pulled her around away from the library. He wasn't going to lose this one. Summoning his courage, he couldn't believe he was going to do this. Not only was it stupid, but just not _him_. He didn't do things like this. His mum taught him to be respectful toward girls, but he didn't care anymore. He _had_ to get through to her! She wasn't going to listen to logic because of her emotions. She did that sometimes, but he'd use logic against her.

"What in the name – get off me! Weasley, I said _let go_!" Ron wouldn't loosen his grip. He held her wrist so it wouldn't hurt, but also so she couldn't escape

"See Hermione? I'm touching you in a way you don't like and you're fighting me back! Why are you yelling at me? Why didn't you yell at that seventh year?" Ron asked angrily, maintaining a grip on her wrist.

"Leave me alone!" she screamed, and Ron let go. He just couldn't treat her like that, couldn't do that to her. He cared about her too much. She stormed off, but he would just follow her. He looked at her right in the face. She moved to one side, but he moved with her. He couldn't let her go.

"You won't take bollocks from me, don't take it from anyone else! Hit me, Hermione! Curse me! I don't care. Prove me wrong. Prove to me that you do take bollocks from me! C'mon you hate me, don't you? Curse me! Hit me! I dare you."

_SLAP!_

Well, she proved him right, but he had a stinging face to show for it.

"Now will you go away and leave me alone?" Hermione said, her voice cracking with tears. Ron's jaw dropped to his trainers, followed by his eyes. He instantly felt terrible for making her cry. She actually had slapped him. She only hit Malfoy and she truly hated him. He was such a bleeding sod.

"Hermione, I'm. . . ."

She was already gone.

He walked back to the common room accepting defeat. Maybe he just couldn't make it work between he and Hermione. She was stubborn and just wouldn't relent to liking him. It had to be an insult to her character if she agreed to be civil with someone she previously detested so much. He would too, actually, if Malfoy treated him like he had treated her.

He told the common room monitor to eat dung when she came over and chewed him out. He told Harry, Seamus, and Dean the same when they came over demanding to tell them what had happened. Ron lay out on the sofa, kicking some second years off. Hermione's school things were still on the table, as well as the little black book. Curiosity got the best of him and he headed up to the dorm, taking the book with him. His roommates, who were playing Exploding Snap, stopped to greet him when he came in, inviting him to join. Ron didn't stop for them. He lay down on his bed and pulled the curtains closed.

"Oi! Weasley, if you're going to wank off, go somewhere else."

"Sod off, Finnigan," Ron said, sticking his head out from his curtains.

Seamus came over and opened the curtains. His eyes caught the book and he took it from its place on Ron's messy pillow. "Oi! You lot, Weasley's got himself a diary!"

"It's not mine. I _found_ it. And don't these curtains mean anything to you? In case you don't know, it means _SOD OFF_." Ron seized the diary, kicked Seamus away, and closed the curtains.

Should he read it? It was interesting. Perhaps the diary was his answer to finally getting through to Hermione, but he was invading her things. . . . He would just look through, no reading, just looking. The entries were written in neat, posh, very Hermione handwriting. The diary wasn't like other diaries. It was stuffed with letters from family and faraway friends.

_'Vicky . . .,'_ he thought with disgust.

There were photos too. Some of them old, some of them new, but all had similar faces except for pictures of friends and the Bulgarian git. Most were of her immediate family. Some were of aunts and uncles and grandparents and cousins. There was one picture that Ron found strange. It was a family photo, her, her parents, but another girl too. The girl was a bit older than Hermione, who looked about eight in the photograph. The girl looked almost identical to the sixteen-year-old Hermione, though her confidence made her stunning. He never saw Hermione look like this girl. Were they sisters? Hermione never mentioned a sister. . . .

His favorite picture was of Hermione and Krum. Krum was still a git, but Hermione, well, she was gorgeous. Just like he remembered. She put all the other girls in the dust, even Fleur. He didn't want to think about Hermione on _Vicky's_ arm. He wanted to remember how stunning she was, and how, when she danced, he wanted to be the one dancing with her. He wanted to show her he could dance, and well. He wasn't an oaf with his size, and along with the arithmetic and writing lessons with his mum prior to Hogwarts, she also taught him and his siblings to dance. She always said, "even though we aren't the wealthiest family in Britain doesn't mean we can't be cultured." He pocketed the picture. Surely she wouldn't miss one of the many photos she had of her boyfriend.

Ron turned to a random page, curiosity taking over. Perhaps he would just read one entry. It was a short entry, much to his chagrin, dated February 11th – that previous Tuesday:

_Diary,_

_ I can deny it no longer. I feel things that I don't want to feel nor do I understand. He plagues my mind, you know. Morning, noon, and night. Today he didn't just invade my mind, but my (for lack of a better word) bubble. He did something unimaginable, something that only adds fuel to the fire I want to extinguish. If I pretend none of this was real, would it go away? Perhaps, but maybe it wouldn't. I would be lying to myself if I said it wasn't true and I know that I can't lie to myself. I've tried it, it doesn't work. I just don't know what to do anymore. The truth is there and I have to accept it. If only the truth wasn't so hard to comprehend. Logic. It's so easy to find the truth. The truth exists in the world. The only difficulty is finding it. Emotions are impossible to find truth in. Truth for one is false for another. Is that what I can say? That it isn't the truth because I choose not to believe it? No, no, my feelings are the truth for me. I know that for a fact. I just have to accept that now and deal with it. My world will change just because of one truth I have accepted, but most certainly dislike. I can accept the truth, but that doesn't mean I have to like it. Perhaps there is logic to feelings and emotions, because I've accepted the truth because it does make sense._

_ Ronald Weasley drives me mad. In fact, there's no one I wish immense bodily harm to more._

_Awfully confused and rambling,_

_Hermione Jane Granger_

Ron set down the diary and groaned loudly. He couldn't win with that girl! No matter how nice he was to her, she still wished him pain.

"OI! THANKS, WEASLEY! I REALLY NEEDED TO HEAR THAT! I SAID NO WANKING, YOU BLEEDIN' TOSSER!" shouted Seamus with disgust.

Ron chucked his clock at Seamus' head quite forcefully.

* * *

I'm so sorry about the long update time everyone! :-( I don't visit very often and with a lot of homework, my story is one of my last priorities. Anyway, this chapter has actually been up for quite a while on a different site (unfortunately, not all of you are able to visit it) and I'm so sorry about taking such a long time to update. I also have the 12th chapter up on the aforementioned site ) and I'll probably update here sometime between now and when the 13th chapter is up. Again, I'm sorry to have kept you waiting this long.

Olivia Frost


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